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THOMAS  N.  DOUTNEY: 


HIS  LIFE-STRUGGLE,  FALL,  AND  REFORMATION. 


ALIO 


:a  btpib  JPcn-ptcture  of  New  ijork. 


TOGETHER  WITH 


A  HISTORY   OF  THE  WORK  HE  HAS  ACCOMPLISHED  AS  A 
TEMPERANCE  REFORMER. 


WRITTEN   BY   HIMSELF. 


^xatmtl^  Sllustratet. 


BOSTON : 
FRANKLIN  PRESS:    RAND,  AVERY,  L  CO. 

1886. 


0)62 


CopYRionr,  1883, 
By  TUOMAS  N.  DOUTNEY. 


Second  Edition,  Januaky,  1886. 


TO 

THE    BEST    PART    OF    MY    LIFE, 

THIS  STORY  OP  MY   "LIFE" 

IS  TENDERLY  DEDICATED 

BY  TOB  iUH  8HB  HAB  BLEdSED  FOR  UFB, 

HER   HUSBAND. 


■'»■-»   J      > 


..AfOJft;. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Whoever  wishes  to  know  the  life  that  is  livci  in  New  Yorlc  and 
the  other  large  cities  of  America,  by  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
human  beings,  ht  him  read  this  book. 

Whoever  wishes  to  peruse  the  simple,  truthful  narrative  of  the 
sins,  sufferings,  struggles,  yet,  by  the  grace  of  God,  the  ultimate 
reformation  and  triumph,  of  an  average  human  being,  —  such  as 
Thomas  N.  Doutney,  —  let  him  read  this  book. 

Whoever  wishes  to  learn  the  history  of  temperance  work  in  this 
country,  let  him  read  this  book. 

And  whoever  sincerely  desires  to  know  the  true  nature  of  the 
demon  Alcohol,  and  the  real  character  of  that  hell.  Intemperance, 
—  from  which  only  the  blessing  of  God  on  his  own  exertions  can 
rescue  the  rum-drinker  and  the  rum-seller,  —  let  him  read  this  book. 

vU 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAQB 

My  Birthplace  and  my  Parentage.  —  My  Father's  Career. —My  Mother 
andmy  Family.  — "Just  as  I  am" i 

CHAPTER  II. 

Earlylmpressions.  — Music  and  Flowers. —The  Joys  of  Summer  and  of 
a  Canadian  Winter. —M>    'f,  my  Schooldays,  and  "Home,  Sweet       ■' 
Home."  — The  Beginning  o^^  Sorrows. —  The  Downward  Path. —My 
First  ••Drink."- One  Point  \n  which  "The  Lower  Animals"  set 
an  Example  to  Man.  —  Two  True  Stories  with  a  Moral        ...       7 

CHAPTER  III. 

A  Boy  Dninkard.  —  Tw<'  Weeks  in  a  Bar-room  as  Amateur  Bar-tender.  — 
A  Love-story  with  a  Doubly  Disastrous  Termination.  —  The  Depths 
of  Youthful  Degradation 17 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  Bad  Boy's  Dream. —  A  Drunkard's  Nightmare. —"  Bar-room  Friend- 
ships," their  Worth  and  Worthlessness.  —  A  Youthful  Sinner  and  his 
Sorrows.  —  How  a  Boy  Drunkard  was  saved  • 24 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Turning  of  the  Tide.  —  The  Trip  to  "  The  Hub."  —  "  Dime  Novel  "- 
ism.  —  The  Two  Bold  Boston  Buccaneers,  and  what  became  of  them. 

—  The  Boy  is  the  Father  of  the  Man    ..     ,  ,       .       .       •       •        •      34 

CHAPTER  VI. 

My  Collegiate  Career.  —  Does  a  "  College  Education  "  educate  ? — A  Lady 
Graduate.  —  A  Typical  Irishman.  —  A  Question  of  Ice-cream  and 
Influence. —The  Hash-hater,  and  why  he  hated  it       ....      60 

CHAPTER  VII. 

I  commence  my  Mercantile  Career.  —  Modern  Trade  as  it  really  is.  —Its 
"Seamy"  and  its  "Starry"  Sides. —Model  Firms  and  Miilionnaires. 

—  Centennial  Excursions.  —  A  Mo w  View  of  A.  T.  Stewart.  —  Jordan, 
Marsh,  &  Co 68 

is 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

FAOB 

How  I  fell  from  Grace,  and  lost  my  Place. —Railroad  Life.  —  On  to  New 
York.       « 82 

CHAPTER  IX. 

New  York  in  General.  — Wlio  come  to  Hew  York,  and  what  becomes  of 
them.  — William  E.  Dodge,  and  James  Fisk,  jun.  — Which  of  the  Two 
Men  will  you  imitate  ? 88 

CHAPTER  X. 

Life  in  New  York,  Sensational  and  Realistic. — The  Population  of  the 
Great  Metropolis,  and  its  Characteristic  Features. — German,  Irish, 
and  American  New  York.  —  Fifth  Avenue,  Broadway,  and  the  Bowery,     93 

CHAPTER  XL 

A  Pen-panorama  of  New  York.  —  The  Poor  of  the  Great  Metropolis.  — 
Castle  Garden  and  the  Emigrants.  —  "Les  Mis^rables."  —  "Old 
MotherHurley's."  — The  Black  Hen's.— The  Black  Hole  of  Cheny 
Street. — The  Mysteries  of  Donovan's  Lane. — Tenement-house  Life 
and  "Rotten  Row."— Tlie  Summer  Poor 101 

CHAPTER  XIL 

The  Pen-panorama  of  Nc.^  York  {continued). — Crime  and  Criminals.— 
The  Male  and  Female  Tliieves  of  the  Metropolis. — Meeting  Mur- 
derers on  Broadway. — The  Social  Evil.  —  Gambling,  Square  and 
Skin. —The  Gambler's  Christmas  Eve ISO 

CHAPTER  Xin. 

The  Pen-panorama  of  New  York  {continued). —The  Metropolitan  Police 
as  they  are. — The  Detectives.  —  Thief -takers  in  Petticoats.  —  How 
Capt.  John  S.  loung  caught  a  Thief  by  Instinct.  —  The  Tombs 
Prison,  and  "  Murderer's  Row " .    148 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Sunday  in  New  York.  —Religious  and  Irreligious  Gotham. —  The  Big 
Funerals  of  New  York.  —  Sunday  Evenings  in  the  Great  Metropolis. 
—  The  History  of  One  Memorable  Sabbath  Day 169 

■  ■  CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Wealth  of  the  Great  Metropolis.  —  Trade,  Speculation,  Wall  Street, 
and  the  Professions.  —  The  Adventures  of  Two  Brothers  who  tried  to 
succeed  in  New  York  by  being  Honest.  —  "Fashionable  Society," 
and  what  it  amounts  to. — The  Brighi,  Side  of  New  York. — New 
York,  after  all,  the  Best  as  well  as  Greatest  City 178 


CONTENTS.  xi 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


PAGE 


Seeking  and  Pinaing  Employment.— New  York  at  Night.  — "The  Sleep- 
less City."— The  Demon  Rum       203 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Drifting  and  Shifting.  --  •  A  Memorable  Sunday.  — My  Adventures  in  Cin- 
cinnati.—Life  on  the  Kiver-steaniboats.  —  Its  Tragedy  and  Camedy 
illu8tr..i3d.  — Steamboat  Races,  Fires,  and  Explosions.  —  River-gam- 
blers. —Moclt  Courts  and  a  Blessed  Practical  Joke.  — My  Curse  con- 
quers me  again 

CHAPTER  XVni. 

Life  in  St.  Louis.  — One  of  the  Minor  Disadvantages  of  Drinking.— The 
Smell  of  Liquor.— Serio-comic  Illustrations  and  Anecdotes.  —  "A 
Hotel  Runner."— How  an  Irishman  outbawled  me,  and  howl  out- 
generalled  him.  —  '«A  Railroad-man"  once  more. —My  Father's 
Grave 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

My  Newspaper-life  in  New  York.  —  Authors,  Critics,  Writers,  and  Jour- 
nalists as  Drinking-men.  —  How  Horace  Greeley  began  a  Dinner- 
speech.  —  Smart  Men  who  put  an  Enemy  into  their  Mouths  to  steal 
away  their  Brains.  —  Alcoholic  Stimulants  a  Curse  to  Talent.  — Fast 
Balls,  and  their  Surroundings. —Business  and  Drink.  — A  Blessing 
that  proved  a  Bane 233 

CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Silly  and  Sinful  Vow  realized.  —  I  become  a  Rum-seller.  —  "  The  Mer- 
chants' Union  Cigar-store  and  Sample-room."  —I  dispense  Poison  to 
MenandBoys.- Selling  Liquor  to  Minors.- "Pool  for  Drinks"       .    252 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Selling  Liquor  to  Women. —Feminine  Intemperance.  —  The  Growing 
Fondness  for  Strong  Drink  among  Females.  —  The  Temptations  of 
Women  to  Intemperance.— Public  and  Private  Balls  and  Parties.- 
The  Supper  after  the  Tlieatre,  the  Fashionable  Restaurant,  the  Excur- 
sion, etc.  —  The  Abuses  of  Drug-stores  exposed.  —  The  Threefold 
Horror  of  Intemperance  in  Women 261 

0 
CHAPTER  XXH. 

A  Rum-seller's  Responsibility.  —What  I  did,  and  what  I  have  ever  since 
been  sorry  for  having  done.  — "A  Drunkard's  Bible".       .       .       .276 


Xii  CONTENTff. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

F/OB 

Further  Details  of  my  Iniquities  as  a  Rum-seller. —  " Free  Lunches"  de- 
nounced and  exposed. —The  "Cordial"  Humbug, —  The  Decoy- 
bottle. —Tho  Story  of  a  Debauch. —  " The  New- York  House."- 
Rum  and  Ruin. —The  Fate  of  Rum-sellers 200 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  Broken  Promise  and  a  Broken-hearted  Brother, —Liquor  brings  its 
Revenge. —The  Horrors  of  Mania  it  Potu,  or  Delirium  Tremens. — 
Some  Curious  and  Startling  Facts.  —  How  I  felt  and  what  I  suffered, 

—  My  Adventures  and  Follies,  — I  became  "a  Tramp," —Station- 
house  Lodgers  and  lievolvers 301 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

"On  the  Island." — The  Penitentiary. —The  Almshouse  and  the  House 
of  Refuge. —  "Rum  does  it."— Lights  and  Shades  of  the  Lunatic 
Asylum. —  "  Island  "  Notorieties.  —  A  Vain  Attempt  to  cure  the 
Drinking-habit,  —  New  York  and  Rum  once  more        ....    315 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

Drunkards  and  Drinking  in  New  York. —The  City  of  Saloons.— The 
Glory  and  the  Shame  of  the  Metropolis.  —  Palatial  Rum-parlors,  Cosey 
Bar-rooms,  and  Corner  Groceries 332 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  Haunts  of  the  Rum-demon. — The  Concert-saloons  of  New  York. 

—  The  Dance-houses.  —  How  a  New- York  Journalist  saved  a  German 
Girl. — The  Efforts  which  have  been  made  by  Temperance  and  Reli- 
gion to  combat  Intemperance  and  Vice.  —  The  Wickedest  Man  in  New 
York,  and  Kit  Burns.  —  "  Awful "  Gardner  and  Jerry  McAuley .        .    338 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  Rum-dens  of  New  York  To-day. — Harry  Hill  and  "Harry  Hill's. — 
The  Truth  about  the  Man  and  his  Place.  —  The  "Mabille"  and 
McGlory's  Den.  —  "  The  Ilaymarket "  and  "  The  Dives."  —  The  Real 
Trouble  with  the  Temperance  Movement 358 

»  CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Still  Another  Opportunity  Won  and  Lost.  — The  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association. — Its  History  and  Good  Work, — I  am  seized  with  an 
Idea. — And  I  prepare  to  carry  it  out 365 


CONTENTS.  Xiii 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Stage  In  Its  Relation  to  the  Bottle.  —  The  "Stars  "  and  Drunkards  of  ""* 
the  Past.  —  Estimable  Men  and  Women  who  have  been  mastered  by 
Bad  Hablta.  —  And  Estimable  Men  and  Women  who  have  resisted 
these  Bad  Habits.  —  The  Three  Booths.  —Nev/  Light  on  the  Assassi- 
nation of  Abraham  Lincoln. —The  Drama  and  the  Dram   .        .        .377 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

My  First  Lecture. —  "  Great  Expectations." —A  Bitter  Disappointment. 

—  What  I  saw  and  what  I  did  not  see  on  Tremont  Street.  —  Two  In- 
telligent and  Well-dressed  Strangers,  and  what  they  wanted  with  me. 

—  A  Lecture  under  DilLculties.  —  A  Temperance  Lecturer  Fallen      .    383 

CHAPTER  XXXH. 

"The  Darkest  Hour  is  just  before  the  Dawn."— My  Lowest  Point.— 
Mania  it  Potu  in  its  most  Fearful  Form.  —  My  Experience  as  a  Cavalry 
Recruit.  —  Army  Life.  —  My  First  Prayer.  —  My  Reformation     .        .    392 

CHAPTER   XXXIH. 

A  Converted  Man's  Trials.  — Fear  as  an  Encouraging  Sign.  — Yes  and 
No,  or  a  Scene  at  Midnight. —The  Lightning-rod  Man.— The  Life- 
insurance  Agent. —The  "Drummer"  and  his  "Samples."— Book- 
canvassing.- A  True  Friend  and  Second  Father 403 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

I  Join  the  Temperance  Bands.  —  Remarks  as  to  the  Great  Usefulness  of 
"Temperance  Societies."- 1  lecture  under  Favorable  Auspices.— 
My  Triumph  and  my  Troubles.  —My  Book  and  my  Printers.  —I  lec- 
ture in  Washington.  —  Temperance  and  Intemperance  among  our 
Public  Men.  — Sumner  and  Wilson  compared  with  Saulsbury  and 
McDougall 4JY 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

My  Second  Lecture  in  the  Tremont  Temple.  —I  vindicate  my  Cause,  and 
redeem  my  Failure.  — I  lecture  at  Steinway  Hall,  New  York.— And 
I  peddle  my  own  Tickets  for  my  Lecture.  —  Extracts  from  my  First 
Book  and  my  Earlier  Lectures.  —  Words  of  Advice,  Warning,  and 
Consolation ,        .        .    432 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

My  Lecture-tour  through  the  Pine-tree  State.  —The  First  Temperance 
Camp-meeting.  —  "  A  Happy  Thought "  happily  carried  out.  —  Prohi- 
bition in  Theory  and  Practice.  —  How  I  crossed  the  Kennebec 
through  the  Ice.— A  Seventy-mile  Sleigh-ride  to  Augusta. —Two 
Exciting  Episodes 445 


jdV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PASS 

The  (Somen's  Crusadr. — Its  Effects  In  Bangor,  Me.,  ami  Elsewhere. — 
The  Origin  and  Progress  of  the  Good  Work,  —  Scenes  and  Incidents. 

—  The  Career  of  the  Crusaders  in  Cincinnati,  Chicago,  and  New 
York 466 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Temperance  Work. —Its  Histo:y  and  Progress. —The  Methods  and 
Acliievements  of  my  Predecessors  and  Colleagues  in  the  Good  Cause. 

—  The  Rev.  Drs.  Lyman  BDceher  and  Theodore  L.  Cuyler. — The 
Washingtonians.  —  John  B.  Gough.  —  Father  Mathew  and  Francis 
Murphy,  etc 479 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A  Tribute  of  Gratitude. —In  Memoriara  of  those  who  have  befriended 

me.  —  A  Long  List  of  Good  Men  and  Women 487 

CHAPTER  XL. 

My  Best  ?riend.  — How  I  wooed  and  won  my  Wife. —I  obey  an  Irre- 
sistible Impulse,  and  meet  my  Fate.  — A  Short,  Sweet  Love-story.  —  I 
link  my  Life  with  a  Good  Woman 403 

CHAPTER  XLL 

My  Professional  Temperance  Work.  —  Its  General  Aspects.  —  Its  Details 
and  Narrative.  —  My  Success  at  Watertown,  N. Y,  —  My  Struggles  and 
Triumphs  at  St.  Paul,  Minn.  —  My  Campaign  along  the  Hudson, 
Newburg,  Yonkers,  Nyack,  etc.  —  "The  Temperance-tent"  at 
Rochester.  —  The  Good  Cause  in  New  Jersey.  — Temperance  Matinees 
at  Albany.  —  Blue  Ribbons  and  Practical  Philanthropy.  —  Enthusiasm 
at  Saratoga. — South  and  West.  —  Richmond,  Va.,  and  Richmond, 
Ind 500 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

My  Wanderings,  and  Warfare  with  the  Demon  Alcohol. — North,  South, 
East,  and  West.  —  In  Villages  and  in  Cities.  — My  Visit  to  Brooklyn. 

—  My  Adventures  in  Providence.  —  "Was  I  not  Right?" — Scenes, 
Incidents,  and  Episodes. — Some  Misunderstandings.  —  A  Summary 
of  my  Work. — The  Brute  of  a  Rum-seller. — The  Cripple  and  her 
Mother.  — A  Baby  as  the  best  Temperance  Lecturer  of  them  all         .    520 

CHAPTER  XLIH. 

The  Temperance  Campaign  in  New  York.  — How  the  Metropolis  Forgives. 

—  Some  Striking  Illustrations.  — Why  not  Wom.an  as  well  as  Man  ?  — 
The  Mascmic  Temple,  the  Church,  and  the  Indian  Wigwam. — Dan 
Rice,  Happy  Jack  Smith,  and  Pop  Wbittaker.  — The  Search  for  John 

•  A.  Tobin.  —  The  New-York  Press  and  People 532 


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THE  LIFE-STRUGGLE  OF  THOMAS  N.  DOUTNEY. 


CHAPTER    I. 


MT     BIBTHPLAC'R     AND    MY     PARENTAGE.  —  MT    FATIIER'S    CAREER. — MY 
MOTHER  AND  MY  FAMILY. —  "  JUST  AS  I  AM." 

There  is  a  certain  good  or  ill  fortune,  as  the  case  may  be» 
that  ia  derived  by  each  one  of  us,  not  only  from  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  our  birth,  but  from  our  birthplace.  To 
my  mind,  it  is  a  positive  misfortune  to  be  born  amid  local  sur- 
roundings that  have  no  beauty;  while  it  is  a  direct  happiness 
in  itself  to  be  ushered  into  existence,  and  to  grow  up,  amid 
beautiful  scenery,  amid  delightful  valleys,  or  vast  green  woods^ 
or  ber    tth  the  grand  mountains,  or  beside  the  yet  grander  sea. 

I  therefore  really  feel  grateful  that  I  was  born  in  one  of  the 
finest  portions  of  Canada,  on  the  right-hand  bank  of  that  mighty 
river,  the  St.  Lawrence,  which  is  year  by  year  growing  in  the 
esteem  of  tourists,  and  which,  though  not  so  vast  as  the  Mis- 
sissippi, nor  so  romantically  beautiful  as  the  Hudson,  still  pos- 
sesses characteristic  attractions  of  its  own  which  will  always 
render  it  an  object  of  deserved  admiration  and  interest. 

I  was  born  in  the  village  of  Laprairie,  in  Canada  East,  nearly 
opposite  Montreal,  to  which  city  my  parents  removed  shortly 
after  my  birth.  Now,  there  are  few  cities  which,  in  point  of 
picturesque  beauty,  surpass  Montreal.  With  its  houses  built 
of  the  gray  limestone   from  the  adjacent  quarries,  with  its 

1 


2  MONTREAL  AND  ITS  CATUEDBAL. 

numerous  tall  spires,  its  many  glittering  roofs  and  clonics,  with 
its  scores  of  beautiful  villas  studding  ita  lofty  background,  the 
city  presents  as  charming  a  panorama  as  is  to  be  seen  on 
the  entire  continent. 

It  WHS  in  this  beautiful  city  that  my  early  youth  was  passed, 
and  my  first,  and  therefore  most  indelible,  impressions  of  life 
were  formed.  My  father's  home  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  the  great  Roman-Catholic  cathedral,  confessedly  the  largest 
and  finest  cathedral  in  America,  surmounted  by  a  tower,  the 
view  from  which  almost  defies  description.  It  may  seem  a 
little  thing,  this  living  near  so  grand  and  beautiful  a  building 
as  this  cathedral ;  but  in  reality,  in  its  iinperceptible  but  all- 
pervading  effect  upon  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  constant  be- 
holder, it  was  a  very  important  thing  indeed.  It  became,  as 
it  were,  part  and  parcel,  and  a  very  important  portion,  of  my 
daily  life.  It  was  the  first  object  I  saw  from  my  room-window 
in  the  morning,  the  last  object  I  saw  from  my  window  at  night 
ere  I  went  to  bed.  It  was  with  me  in  its  might  and  beauty  all 
the  time.  It  stole  into  my  soul  unawares.  Its  quiet  might 
and  majesty  were  deeply  impressed  upon  me,  —  far  more  deeply 
than  I  at  the  time  myself  imagined.  In  fact,  boyliko,  I  thought 
nothing  about  it,  I  suppose ;  but,  notwithstanding  my  careless- 
ness of  the  effect,  the  effect  was  there,  and  has  remained  there 
ever  since.  In  all  my  wanderings  and  adventures,  in  my 
darkest  hours  as  in  my  brightest,  the  grand  yet  beautiful  pro- 
portions and  outlines  of  that  cathedral  have  been  carried  with 
me  in  my  mind's  eye,  proving  once  more  the  positive  truth  of 
those  oft-quoted  words,  "  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever." 

My  father's  name  was  Thomas  L.  Doutney,  and  he  was  both 
a  gentleman  and  a  scholar.  He  came  of  a  good  old  family; 
and  he  had  been  educated  at  La  Salle  University,  in  the  famed 
old  city  of  Quebec,  the  most  celebrated  and  the  most  pictur- 
esque of  American  cities. 


"  It  was  the  first  object  I  saw  from  my  window  in  the  morning"  [p.  2]. 


THE  OLD  TOWN  OF  QUEBEC.  8 

Ju8t  M  my  liciirt  has  ever  fontlly  turneil  to  Montreal ;  so 
my  father's  licarL  alway.s  tenderly  turned,  in  memory,  to  Que- 
bec. My  father  was  never  weaned  of  tellin{^  me  about  the 
dear,  quaint  old  city  of  his  college  days.  Ho  wotild  graph- 
ically dcMcribo  the  fine  Upper  Town,  the  semi-aristocratic,  semi- 
religious  city  which  stretched  within  the  walls,  devoted  part 
to  dwellings,  and  part  to  religious  edifices,  —  a  city  which,  even 
in  this  nineteenth  century,  when  the  days  of  chivalry  are  re- 
called only  in  the  novels  of  James  or  Scott,  still  resembles  a 
mediioval  town,  such  as  the  Crusaders  might  have  lived  in. 

Having  been  educated  in  Quebec,  my  father  settled  in  Mon- 
treal, and,  on  attaining  the  age  of  twenty-one,  became  the 
editor  and  proprietor  of  a  journal  —  a  daily  journal  —  entitled 
"L'Aiirore  des  Canadas."  My  father  had  always  evinced  an 
inclination  towards  political  literature  and  press-writing,  and 
had  taken  the  trouble  (in  which  respect  he  differed  for  the 
better  from  most  press-writers)  to  familiarize  himself  thoroughly 
with  all  the  practical  departments  connected  with  a  newspaper. 
He  had  literally  served  "  an  apprenticeship"  to  "the  newspaper 
business,"  and  understood  all  the  duties  concerned  therein, 
from  printer's  devil  to  managing  editor  and  proprietor.  He 
began  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  ladder,  and  by  nis  tact,  ability, 
industry,  and  character  worked  his  way  to  the  top ;  and,  had 
the  administration  to  whose  cause  he  devoted  his  talents  and 
his  paper  remained  in  power,  he  would  have  become  himself  a 
power  in  the  province.  But  the  \isual  ministerial  crisis  came 
(it  comes  in  Canada  just  as  inevitably  as  it  comes  in  the 
mother  country) ;  and,  the  ministry  resigning,  my  father's 
paper's  fate  was  sealed.  Like  the  sensible  and  dignified  dog 
in  the  story,  who,  when  he  saw  preparations  made  to  kick  him 
out  of  the  window,  walked,  down  stairs ;  my  fjtther,  seeing  that 
all  the  patronage  would  be  withdrawn  from  his  paper,  did  not 
wait  to  postpone  the  evil  day,  but  suspended  publicatitn  at 


4  Xr  FATHER. 

once.  It  was  his  wisest  courae ;  for,  being  now  relieved  from 
the  necessity  of  supporting  what  could  only  be  a  burden  and  a 
failure,  he  was  now  free  to  take  advantage  of  any  outoide 
opportunities  which  might  arise.  And  they  soon  arose.  Aware 
of  my  father's  ]  -actical  newspaper  training,  as  well  as  news- 
paper abilities,  various  publishers  made  him  offers  of  employ- 
ment in  responsible  thougn  not  very  lucrative  capacities ;  and 
at  different  times  he  became  connected  with  three  of  the 
prominent  journals  of  Canada,  —  "La  Pays,"  "La  Minerve," 
and  "  Tlie  Montreal  Gazette." 

I  may  here  remark,  that,  while  on  the  staff  of  "  The  Montreal 
Gazette,"  my  father  visited  the  United  States,  and  received 
marked  attention  in  several  of  the  leading  cities  of  the  Union. 
Carrying  with  him  letters  of  indorsement  from  his  Honor 
Charles  Rodier,  Esq.,  mayor  of  Montreal  in  1858,  he  was 
received  with  the  utmost  courtesy  by  Hon.  Daniel  F.  Tieman, 
mayor  of  New  York,  and  other  political  magnates  of  the 
metropolis.  Making  a  somewhat  extended  stay  in  New  York, 
he  connected  himself  with  the  business  department  of  "The 
Army  and  Navy  Journal "  of  New  York,  and  wrote  for  several 
metropolitan  journals.  He  afterwards  located  himself  in  Boston, 
becoming  connected  with  one  of  the  leading  papers  there, — 
"  The  Boston  Post."  But  in  the  prime  of  life,  at  forty-five 
years  of  age,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  useful  career,  he  died 
suddenly,  having  experienced  more  than  the  usual  vicissitudes 
of  a  newspaper  career,  and  never  having  had  an  opportunity 
to  do  full  justice  to  his  abilities. 

In  this  latter  respect  he  was  like  thousands  of  other  men ; 
but  as  a  loving  father,  ever  struggling  for  the  best  interests  and 
advancement  of  his  children,  and  truly  devoted  to  his  family, 
he  has  had  few  equal  and  no  superiors,  so  far  as  my  knowl- 
edge and  observation  of  life  extends.  His  pride  and  delight 
were  in  us  his  children.     Tears  fill  my  eyes  now  when  I  think  of 


MY  MOTHER  AND  MY  FAMILY.  6 

my  dear  departed  father.  He  was  much  attached  to  a  brother, 
who  is  still  living,  then  doing  business  in  Montreal  as  a  whole- 
sale merchant,  highly  respected,  —  William  L.  Doutney.  He 
had  also  a  favorite  sister,  who  resides  in  Montreal:  but  his 
chief  affection  and  pride  were  centred  in  his  children ;  and  for 
their  sakes  he  toiled  and  struggled,  for  their  advancement  he 
planned  and  labored,  with  a  self-denial  worthy  of  all  praise,  and 
(what  is  more  than  any  praise)  worthy  of  all  the  love  that  can 
be  given  to — alas  I  all  that  remains  of  him  now  —  his  memory. 

My  mother  —  God  bless  her  —  was,  like  my  father,  a  Cana- 
dian by  birth  and  education.  Her  maiden  name  was  Jane  Smith, 
and  she  was  in  all  respects  a  lovely  woman.  I  can  see  now,  as 
I  write  these  lines,  that  I  was  more  favored  than  I  at  the  time 
appreciated  in  my  parents.  They  loved  each  other,  and  they 
loved  their  children,  —  simple  facts,  which  cannot  be  truthfully 
recorded  of  all  parents  nowadays. 

I  had  six  brothers  and  two  sisters ;  and,  take  us  for  all  in  all, 
we  were  a  happy  family.  Three  brothers  and  one  sister  have 
since  died,  and  the  survivors  are  scattered;  but  still  my  thoughts 
often  revert  to  the  pleasant  time  when  we  were  all  alive  and  all 
together.     I  do  not  at  all  agree  with  the  poet  who  says,  — 

"  Sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow 

Is  remembering  happier  ihings." 

On  the  contrary,  I  have  cause  to  believe  that  the  "  pleasures 
of  memory  "  are  very  real,  and  that  their  essential  part  is  this 
very  remembrance  of  "  once  happy  days,"  even  though,  as  the 
old  song  has  it,  they  may  "  be  gone  now  forever."  And  in  my 
own  case  I  can  testify,  that,  to  this  hour,  the  recollection  of 
some  quiet,  domestic  evening  in  our  humble  but  comfortable 
home  in  Montreal,  under  the  wing,  as  it  "rere,  of  the  grand 
cathedral,  with  my  father  and  mother  and  brothers  and  sisters, 
all  gathered  lovingly  and  harmoniously  together,  affects  me  like 


6  MY  BROTHERS  AND  SISTER. 

the  strain  of  oiice-familiur  music,  and  thrills  me  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  pleasure  which  more  than  neutralizes  the  pathos  insepa- 
rable from  my  recollections. 

Perhaps  I  have  special  reason  for  fondly  remembering  my 
brothers  and  sisters,  for  they  have  been  specially  kind  and 
loving  to  me  in  the  various  crises  of  my  wandering  life.  My 
brothers,  William  B.,  Joseph  F.,  and  George  P.,  Doutney,  and 
my  sister,  Sarali  Jane  Doutney,  have  ever  evinced  a  practical 
solicitude  for  my  welfare.  They  were  all  loving  brothers  and 
a  kind  sister  to  me  in  my  darkest  hours  of  misfortune ;  and, 
although  unworthy  of  such  exalted  love  by  pursuing  the  course 
I  did,  they  never  forsook  me,  but  plead  with  me  earnestly  to 
amend  my  ways :  and  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  such  constant 
intercessions  to  the  throne  of  grace,  I  believe  I  stand  where  I 
do  to-day,  on  praying-ground.  God  was  truly  kind  in  giving 
me  such  good  parents  and  such  loving  brothers  and  sisters ;  and 
how  can  I  repay  them?  Let  it  be  my  constant  endeavor  to  be 
worthy  of  such  devotion,  and  prove  to  them  I  am  not  unmind- 
ful of  their  attentions ;  and  may  I  keep  steadfast  to  the  end ! 
By  so  doing  I  shall  make  atonement  for  past  errors  and  follies, 
and  I  know  that  their  hearts  will  be  gladdened  at  the  joyful 
news.  They  all  occupy  good  and  responsible  positions  in  the 
city  of  New  York ;  and  I  mention  their  names  and  these  facts 
so  minutely,  in  relation  to  my  connections,  to  show  my  sincerity 
in  this  narrative.  The  whole  truth  shall  be  told  in  a  plain  and 
simple  way ;  and  though  some  parts  may  be  bitter  to  divulge, 
yet  it  must  be  set  down  just  as  I  am, — or,  rather,  just  as  I  have 
been,  —  and  the  reader  will  see  that  none  can  be  so  hardened 
and  lost  to  shame  but  that  they  may  return  to  the  paths  of 
virtue  and  rectitude.  And,  in  the  pages  to  come,  I  wish  to  give 
all  the  glory  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  who  has  saved  me ;  for 
without  him  I  am  weaker  than  a  bruised  reed,  and  in  him  alone 
is  my  trust.  ",-,.;'-  ,^  ,(,:■,..',,■. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BA3LT  IHPnESSIONS.  —  MU8I0  AND  FLOWEBS. — THE  JOYS  OF  SUMUEB  AND 
OF  A  CANADIAN  WINTER.  —  MYSELF,  MY  SCHOOLDAYS,  AND  "HOME, 
SWEET  HOME."— THE  BEGINNING  OF  SOBBOWS. — THE  DOWNWARD  PATH. 
—  MY  FIRST  "drink."— ONE  POINT  IN  WHICH  "THE  LOWER  ANIMAL"* " 
BBT  AN  EXAMPLE  TO  MAN.  — TWO  TRCE  STOWE8   WITH  A  MORAL. 

I  "WAS  sent  to  school  at  an  early  age,  and  was  considered  an 
apt  scholar.  I  possessed  a  fair  memory,  and,  if  I  once  read  a 
book  carefully,  could  always  remember  its  main  points.  But, 
although  I  do  not  think  it  advisable  in  this  work  to  discuss  the 
"  vexed  questions  "  appertaining  to  the  system  of  modern  edu- 
cation, I  must  say  that  my  experience  and  observation  have 
convinced  me  that  too  much  stress  is  laid  in  our  schools  upon 
the  exercise  of  mere  memory.  And  I  must  insist,  that  the  mere 
accumulation  of  facts,  mere  "  cramming,"  is  not  education  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  term.  A  so-called  "  smart "  child,  who 
can  repeat  by  rote,  or,  as  it  is  miscalled,  "by  heart,"  or  without 
book,  the  contents  of  a  text-book,  may  yet  be,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  a  fool,  and  be  utterly  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  the 
great  truths  which  the  mere  words  (which  he  or  she,  parrot-like, 
repeats)  only  imperfectly  symbolize  and  convey.  Instances  are 
numerous  in  which  the  dunces  of  schools  have  become  the 
great  men  and  women  of  the  world,  while  the  examples  are 
equally  plentiful  of  the  "  crack  scholar  "  of  a  class  never  being 
heard  of  after  he  or  she  left  school. 

Experience  and  observation  have  also  convinced  me,  that  chil- 
dren at  schools  are  often  overworked,  with  the  best  intentions 

I 


8  MY  LOVE  OF  MUSIC. 

generally,  alike  on  the  part  of  parents  and  teachers,  but  on  a 
mistaken  notion  that  the  more  facts  a  child  can  repeat  the  more 
information  that  child  is  likely  to  retain,  —  an  idea  that  is  wholly 
unfounded.  An  overloaded  mind,  like  an  overloaded  stomach, 
leads,  iiot  to  health,  but  indigestion.  Still,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
fact,  I  must  here  record,  that,  judged  by  the  ordinary  standard, 
I  was  "a  good  scholar,"  a  child  who  always  "knew  his  les- 
sons." 

I  was  an  impressionable  child,  too,  rather  imaginative,  while 
at  the  same  time  of  a  social  temperament,  —  a  dangerous  combi- 
nation of  qualities,  as  I  have  since  found  it.  I  was  passionately 
fond  of  music,  and  on  Sundays  would  revel  in  the  sublime 
melody  afforded  at  the  grand  cathedral. 

While  the  notes  of  the  organ  pealed  through  the  majestic 
temple,  I  would  feel  that  ecstatic  thrill  which  perhaps,  of  all  hu- 
man sensations,  approaches  nearest  to  the  bliss  of  heaven.  And 
I  am  sure  that  the  religious  element  in  my  nature  was  deep- 
ened, not  deteriorated  or  lessened,  by  the  glorious  music  with 
which  it  was  thus  associated. 

Music  and  religion  should  be  like  man  and  wife,  never  sepa- 
rated. It  is  to  the  practical  application  of  this  truth  that  the 
Roman  Catholic  and  the  Protestant  Episcopal  churches  owe 
much  of  their  success. 

Father  Cummings,  who  was,  when  living,  the  favorite  pastor 
of  St.  Stephen's  Roman-Catholic  Church  in  New-York  City,  — 
a  church  so  crowded  twice  every  Sunday  as  to  force  the  sexton 
often  to  close  the  church-doors  upon  late  comers,  —  once  re- 
marked in  his  pleasant,  shrewd  way,  '•!  trust  to  my  organist 
and  my  choir  to  bring  the  people  in :  tho  church  and  I  will 
attend  to  them  after  they  are  once  brought  in."  

And  it  is  recorded  of  a  venerable  bishop  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  who  was  "  as  wi&e  as  a  serpent,  though  harmless  as  a 
dove,"  that,  when  a  pious  old  lady  once  remarked,  holding  up 


BUMMER  AND  WINTEB.  9 

her  hands  in  horror,  that  she  had  heard  the  organist  play,  upon 
his  sacred  instrument,  a  selection  from  what  she  was  told  was 
the  opera,  —  or,  as  she  phrased  it,  "the  Devil's  music," — mildly 
yet  forcibly  replied  by  asking  the  old  lady  the  unanswerable 
question,  "Well,  my  dear  madam,  why  should  the  Devil  be 
allowed  to  have  all  the  best  music  ?  "     Why,  indeed  ? 

Why,  indeed,  should  vice  in  general  be  rendered  as  attractive 
as  possible,  while  virtue  is  allowed  to  seem  Mnattractive  ?  Why 
should  the  concert-saloon  and  the  beer-hall  resound  with  sweet 
or  lively  music,  while  the  Sunday  school  or  the  temperance 
platform  should  be  either  deprived  of  music,  or  echo  only  with 
lugubrious  strains  ?    Why,  indeed  ? 

But  music  was  not  my  only  delight  as  a  child. :  I  was  passion- 
ately fond  of  flowers  and  of  the  works  of  nature,  as  I  think  all 
healthy  children  are.  I  loved  to  wander  in  the  fields ;  I  loved 
to  stroll  by  the  river-side ;  I  loved,  in  my  unconscious  yet  heart- 
felt vay,  "to  look  up  from  nature  unto  nature's  God." 

I  enjoyed  the  short  but  sweet  Canadian  summer  greatly 
but  I  equally  delighted  in  the  bracing  though  sometimes  severe 
Canadian  winter. 

After  all,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  poets  and  novelists 
have  descanted  too  enthusiastically  upon  the  charms  of  suru- 
mer.  These  are  exquisite,  doubtless,  but  they  are  also  ener 
vating.  To  lie  all  day  under  a  leafy  tree ;  to  sleep,  soothed  in 
your  slumbers  by  the  rippling  murmurs  of  a  babbling  brook ; 
to  chase  the  brilliant  butterfly ;  to  plunge  into  the  bath ;  to 
sentimentalize  in  the  soft  moonlight;  to  pluck  the  roses  in 
June ;  to  enjoy  the  greenness  of  July ;  or  to  lazily  swing  in 
X  hammock  in  the  dog-days  of  August,  —  this  is  sweet  in  mod- 
eration :  this  is  refreshing  if  it  forms  but  part  of  a  holiday,  a 
vacation,  a  needed  rest  from  labor.  But  to  walk  miles  in  cold, 
bracing  air  on  snow ;  to  "  sled,"  or  to  "  coast,"  or  to  skate ;  to 
brace  yourself  up,  and  venture  out  into  a  temperature  approxi- 


1ft  "HOME  LIFE"  AND   THE  "  BREAKINO-UP." 

mating  zoro ;  "^o  feel  the  keen  air  blowing  against  your  cheeks, 
and  to  be  inipelled  to  the  necessity  of  active  physical  exercise, 
—  this  is  better  than  the  summer  siesta;  better  because  it  is 
braver.  And  there  is  a  hardy  happiness  about  a  Canadian 
winter,  which  I  thoroughly  appreciated  myself  as  a  boy,  and 
which,  I  am  glad  to  find,  is  gradually  growing  into  favor  with 
the  American  public ;  as  witness  the  ^dat  which  attended  the 
recent  ice-carnival  at  Montreal,  —  an  occasion  which  brought 
visitors  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States. 

For  several  years,  what  with  my  school,  my  school-com- 
panions, my  cathedral  music  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  my 
happy  summers,  my  still  more  delightful  winters,  and,  above 
all,  with  my  father  and  mother  and  brothers  and  sisters,  my 
"home,  sweet  home,"  I  was  indeed  happy,  —  happier  than  I 
have  ever  been  since,  happier,  probably,  than  I  will  ever  be 
again :  for  true  happiness  is  like  the  plant  that  only  blooms 
once  in  a  lifetime ;  and,  alas  I  alas !  how  ma,ny  live  and  die 
without  ever  having  found  it  bloom  at  all  I 

Then  the  "  break  "  came.  My  father  was  obliged  to  leave 
Montreal  on  his  business.  My  mother  was  taken  sick,  became 
a  confirmed  invalid,  and  was  removed  to  a  hospital.  Pecuniary 
difficulties  increased  our  other  troubles,  and  my  "  home  life  " 
ended. 

Sorrows  seldom  come  singly,  and  in  my  case  they  over- 
whelmed me  in  whole  troops.  Financial  and  family  troubles 
increased,  till  our  once  happy  and  united  household  was  en- 
tirely broken  up,  like  thousands  of  households  before  and 
since ;  while  we  poor  children  were  thrown  upon  the  mercy  of 
a  cold  world. 

For  a  while  I  could  not  fully  appreciate  the  change  in  my 
position  and  prospects.  I  felt,  and,  alas !  I  acted,  like  one  in  a 
dream,  who  was  sure  he  would  soon  somehow  awaken  to  a  more 
agreeable  reality. 


"My  companious,  and  the  bar-keeper,  and  the  men  around,  only  laughed  " 
[p.U]. 


MT  FIRST  GLASS  OF  LIQUOR.  11 

I  was  always  of  a  social  nature,  and  rather  what  is  called 
"  popular  "  among  my  companions ;  and  I  paid  the  full  price 
of  this  curse  of  "  populurity,"  for  such  mere  "  personal  popu- 
larity "  often  is.  ■  .  .      '    '       .       '  .       . 

I  was  not  forced  to  feel  at  once  our  changed  pecuniary  posi- 
tion. Although  I  was  taken  from  school,  I  still  had  for  a  while 
a  roof  to  shelter  me,  and  even  a  little  pocket-money ;  and  my 
pocket-money  and  my  popularity  together  ruined  me.  I  was 
induced  to  drink,  and  soon  formed  a  habit  of  drinking.  I  have 
recorded  the  tatal  bane  of  my  life  in  this  short  sentence. 

Well  do  I  remember  —  oh !  shall  I  ever  forget  ?  —  my  first 
drink.  I  met  a  boy,  a  schoolmate,  who  asked  me  to  accompany 
him  into  a  gilded  bar-room  we  were  passing.  I  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  I  followed  my  youthful  companion  to  the  bar. 
We  could  scarcely  yet  reach  up  to  the  counter ;  but  wo  regarded 
ourselves  as  men,  and  men  we  really  were  so  far  as  having  one 
of  the  worst  appetites  of  men  could  constitute  a  man. 

My  companion  was  evidently  accustomed  to  the  place.  He 
nodded  carelessly  to  the  bar-keeper,  who  nodded  familiarly  to 
him,  and  placed  a  bottle  of  whiskey  before  him  on  the  counter. 
My  companion  poured  the  fiery  liquid  from  the  bottle  into  his 
glass,  and  I  followed  his  example.  My  companion  poured  the 
fiery  liquid  from  his.  glass  down  his  throat,  and  I  followed  his 
example.  Never  shall  I  forget  my  sensations  as  I  swallowed 
this  my  first  glass  of  liquor.  It  seemed  as  if  a  fire  were  rushing 
through  my  veins.  It  seemed  as  if  my  brain  and  my  body 
were  dilating  under  the  draught.  I  imagined  myself  for  a 
moment  a  giant :  and  then  the  re-action  came,  and  I  only  knew 
that  I  was  deathly  sick ;  that  I  —  I,  the  child  of  a  fond  father's 
and  mother's  and  brothers'  and  sisters'  love  and  prayers  —  was 
drunk  in  a  bar-room.  Alas  I  I  must  then  and  there  have  been 
a  sight  to  make  the  angels  weep,  though  my  companion  and  the 
bar-keeper  and  the  meti  around  only  laughed.    I  must  here 


It  INSTINCT  VERSUS  SEASON. 

remark,  that  of  course  I  did  not  at  one  bound  become 
a  whiskey-tlrinker :  I  did  not,  "at  one  fell  swoop,"  become  a 
drunkard.  No :  I  had,  previous  to  the  sad  scene  just  related, 
been  for  some  time  in  the  habit  of  drinking  beer  and  ale  and 
malt  liquors ;  and  I  had  contracted  the  habit  of  freciuenting  the 
public-houHCH  and  the  beer-saloons.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
boys,  like  men,  become  drinkers  and  drunkards  gradually,  by 
a  slow  but  sure  progression,  or,  rather,  retrogression.  The 
famous  ancient  saying  holds  good  (or  bad)  in  these  modern 
days :  "  Faeilia  descenaus  averni  "  ("  Easy  and  imperceptible  is 
the  descent  into  evil").  It  was  thus  in  my  case.  I  began  first 
to  sip,  when  a  small  boy,  small-beer ;  then  it  was  but  a  step, 
and  a  natural  one,  to  cider ;  then  but  another  natural  step  to 
ale;  and  then  the  ordinary  and  almost  inevitable  result  fol- 
lowed, and  I  took  my  first  drink  of  spirituous  liquors  under 
the  circumstances  and  with  the  result  already  described. 
This  first  drink  caused  me,  in  its  results  upon  my  youthful 
system,  a  physical  agony,  which  one  would  think  would  have 
had  a  permanently  beneficial  effect  upon  me  in  leading  me 
ever  after  to  dread  and  avoid  the  cause  of  such  suffering. 
But,  unfortunately,  the  suffering  was  but  transitory ;  and  the 
sin  was  soon  repeated,  with  less  suffering  at  the  time. 

There  seems  to  be  this  characteristic  difference  between  man, 
said  to  be  endowed  with  reason,  and  the  lower  animals,  which 
are  endowed  only  with  what  is  called  "  instinct."  The  latter 
will  seldom  repeat  any  experiment  which  has  once  been  proved 
by  them  to  be  pernicious  upon  themselves.  Whereas  man,  the 
lord  of  creation,  so  self-styled,  —  man,  made  in  the  image  of  his 
Maker, — will  repeat,  and  will  keep  on  repeating,  an  action,  or  a 
course  of  conduct,  which  he  has  proved,  which  he  knows,  to  be 
injrrious. 

A  monkey  on  board  a  ship  some  years  ago  was  given  some 
rum  by  the  sailors,  and  for  a  while  enjoyed  himself  hugely  with 


MAN  AND  TUB  MONKEY.  18 

his  liquor.  lie  drank  freely,  BWrtllowed  glass  after  glass  of 
llie  fu-ry  liquid,  and  became  liiliiriouHly  drunk,  to  the  intense 
delight  of  the  crew  in  general,  and  of  the  captain  in  particular, 
who  was  a  heavy  drinker. 

For  a  while  Master  Monkey  was  as  happy  as  a  king,  or,  .s  the 
phrase  goes^,  as  "drunk  as  a  lord."  Then  "a  change  cuino  o'er 
the  spirit  of  his  dream,"  and  Master  Monkey  did  not  feel  quite 
so  kingliko  or  so  lordly.  Then  he  ceased  his  antics  altogether, 
huddled  himself  up  in  a  corner,  and  looked  as  he  felt,  intensely 
wretched  and  deathly  sick.  Master  Monkey  was  paying  the 
penalty  of  his  intoxication. 

In  a  few  days  he  recovered  from  his  sickness  completely,  and 
was  as  well  as  ever.  So  far  the  analogy  between  him  and  an 
ordinary  "drinking"  man  was  complete.  So  far  the  man  and 
the  monkey  were  precisely  similar.  But  at  this  point  all  re< 
semblance  ended. 

For  when,  a  few  days  later,  the  sailors  again  offered  Master 
Monkey  some  more  rum,  the  monkey,  instead  of  accepting  the 
offer,  —  and  the  liquor,  —  resented  the  one,  and  fled  from  the 
other.  He  snapped  at  the  sailor  who  offered  him  the  rum,  and 
then  ran  away,  and  climbed  up  the  rigging,  where  he  remained 
for  hours.  And  never  again,  during  that  voyage,  could  the 
raonkey  be  induced  to  taste  one  drop  of  that  rum.  Once  the 
captain  tried  to  force  some  of  the  liquor  down  his  throat ;  but 
the  brute  (?)  (was  he  a  brute,  after  all?  or,  rather,  which  of  the 
two  creatures  was  the  real  brute,  the  monkey  or  the  captain  ?) 
fought  fiercely,  and  finally  compelled  the  captain  to  desist. 

A  year  later  that  vessel  went  down  at  sea,  with  all  hands  on 
board.  A  severe  gale  arose,  and  possibly  it  could  have  been 
safely  struggled  through  with  (for  the  vessel  was  stanch ;  and 
the  captain,  when  sober,  was  really  a  skilful  seaman)  ;  but  the 
captain  and  crew  alike  were  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of 
liquor  —  and  the  ship  went  down.      ..,,,;    . 


14  TUR  ELEPHANT  AND  TOBACCO. 

Now,  in  this  instaiico,  was  not  the  onlor  of  nattjro  clcurly  and 
directly  revtTHcd?  Did  not  the  monkey  act  like  a  man,  or  uh 
a  man  Bhoiild  act?  And  did  not  the  men  act  iu  u  way  that 
would  disgrace  a  monkey? 

Many  similar  anecdotes  illustrating  this  point  could  hero  be 
given  did  space  permit.  Experiments  have  been  tried  with 
intoxicating  liquors  upon  dogs  and  cats;  and,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  the  animal  would  never  voluntarily  repeat  its  intoxication. 

True,  there  have  been  exceptional  cases.  I  knew  of  a  cat 
once  that  had  formed  an  acquired  taste  for  liquor,  and  whose 
antics,  it  must  be  confessed,  while  under  the  influence  of 
whiskey  punch,  were  very  amusing,  to  the  spectators  at  least ; 
though  I  cannot  answer  positively  for  the  cat.  Hut,  in  the  great 
majority  of  instances,  the  pouit  I  have  made  holds  good.  And 
it  certainly  is  u  good  point  —  in  favor  of  mere  instinct  and 
the  lower  animals. 

The  same  point  holds  with  regard  to  the  use  of  tobacco. 
Animals  which  have  once  been  made  sick  with  tobacco,  never, 
or  "  hardly  ever,"  can  be  induced  to  give  "  the  weed  "  a  second 
trial.  ' 

A  striking  and  terrible  illustration  of  this  fact  was  afforded 
some  years  ago,  iu  the  career  of  a  Western  circus,  recorded  by 
the  well-known  actress  and  authoress,  Olive  Logan,  in  her  book 
upon  the  stage,  and  show-people  generally. 

An  elephant  had  once  been  offered  a  piece  of  tobacco,  which 
he  had  greedily  taken  up  in  his  trunk,  and  eagerly  swallowed. 
It  mat  e  him  sick  and  disgusted ;  and,  elephants  having  long 
memories,  he  did  not  forget  his  experience. 

Some  months  afterwards  a  man  visiting  the  show  "  fooled  " 
the  elephant  by  substituting  a  quid  of  tobacco  for  a  cracker,  and 
causing  the  monster  to  swallow  the  former  in  haste  in  mistake 
for  the  latter.  The  elephant  at  once  became  infuriated,  broke 
loose,  and  carried  confusion  and  dismay  with  him  in  his  course 


THE   WRECKINO  OF  A   CIRCUS.  15 

of  tlestruction,  bringing  the  performances  to  nn  unexpectedly 
abrupt  end.  Having  vented  his  wrath  on  the  circus-tent  and 
its  surroundings,  the  now  thoroughly  maddoned  brute  rushed 
to  the  ruilroad-track,  on  which  a  freight-train  was  rapidly  ap- 
I)roaching  round  a  curve.  Ere  the  collision  could  be  averted, 
the  elephant  and  the  locomotive  "collided,"  the  beust  was 
killed,  and  the  locomotive  was  thrown  off  the  track,  and  the 
engineer  and  fireman  were  seriously  injured.  But  this  was 
not  all.  In  the  crash  caused  by  the  elephant's  escapade,  the 
cage  of  the  tiger  belonging  to  the  show  had  been  upset ;  and 
the  tiger  had  escaped.  It  can  readily  be  understood  what  ex- 
citement was  created  by  this  fact,  and  how  the  farmers  at  once 
combined,  and  patrolled  the  country,  for  their  protection  from 
the  tiger.  After  attacking  and  killing  several  valuable  horses, 
and  giving  chase  to  several  men,  the  tiger  was  finally  killed, 
chiefly  through  the  nerve  of  a  "  wild  Irish  girl,"  a  servant  at  a 
farmhouse,  who  had  never  seen  a  tiger  in  her  life,  and  who, 
regarding  it  as  a  mere  "  curiosity,"  led  her  master  and  his  sons 
to  the  spot  where  she  had  seen  the  beast  basking  in  the  sun. 

And  all  this  wrecking  of  a  railroad-train,  this  destruction  of 
property,  and  this  danger  to  life  and  limb,  simply  because  an 
elephant,  who  had  been  made  once  sick  by  chewing  tobacco, 
resented  the  attempt  to  make  him  chew  it  again. 

But  boys  and  men  will  smoke  or  chew  or  drink,  be  taken 
horribly  sick  from  the  effects  of  tobacco  or  liquor,  and  yet 
will  persist  in  smoking,  chewing,  or  drinking  (or  all  three) 
till  the  very  indulgence  which  once  made  i-hera  sick  becomes 
a  very  necessity  of  their  lives  from  habit.  It  was  thus  in  my 
case;  and,  ere  I  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  I  was  both  a  smoker 
and  a  drinker,  and  sometimes,  alas !  a  profane  swearer  also. 
And  I  had  drifted  into  being  a  "  hanger  round  "  bar-rooms  and 
beer-saloons,  and  had  become  quite  a  frequenter  of  the  thea- 
tre, when  I  could  get  a  "free"  ticket,  or  could  obtain  what  is 


16  ON  THE  DOWNWARD  ROAD. 

known  as  a  "  bill-board  "  admission  ;  i.e.,  a  ticket  given  in  re- 
turn for  distributing  dodgers,  circulars,  or  other  printed  matter 
connected  with  a  theatre,  or  for  "  posting  bills." 

I  have  nothing  to  say  here  against  the  theatre  properly  con- 
ducted, and  I  have  certainly  nothing  to  say  for  it  in  general ; 
but  this  I  must  and  will  say,  that  it  is  a  dangerous  place  for  a 
boy,  such  as  I  then  was,  to  form  the  habit  of  attending,  especially 
without  the  restraint  of  the  presence  of  some  older  member  of 
his  family.  I  suppose  that  the  majority  of  actors,  actresses,  and 
theatre-goers  will  confess  this  much  at  least.  The  theatre  is 
assuredly  not  the  proper  place  for  the  child,  the  lad;  and  it  was 
one  of  the  worst  phases  of  my  downward  career  at  this  time, 
that  my  evenings  were  passed,  not  around  the  domestic  fireside 
(alas!  I  had  then  no  fireside  to  sit  around),  but  under  the  glare 
of  the  gaslights,  and  under  the  spell  of  the  footlights,  and  in 
the  midst  of  companions  of  my  own  age,  whose  choice  deligh'Ls 
were  drinking  and  smoking,  and  whose  highest  joy  was  to  at- 
tend a  theatre. 

I  was  thus  fairly  (or  foully)  started  on  the  road  to  perdition, 
and  yet  I  knew  it  not.  The  terrible  serpent  that  was  encircling 
me  in  his  folds  gave  no  warning.  I  heard  not  his  awful  hiss ; 
I  felt  not  the  deadly  venom  of  his  fangs ;  but  all  unconscious  I 
wooed  him,  like  the  poor  bird  which  stands  entranced,  and  flies 
helpless  to  its  own  destruction.    And  it  is  ever  thus  with  crime. 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  bo  seen ; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  BOY  DntmKARD. — TWO  WEEKS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM  AS  AMATEUR  BAR- 
TENDER. —  A  LOVE-STORY  WITH  A  DOUBLY  DISASTROUS  TERMINATION.  — 
THE  DEPTHS  OF  YOUTHFUL  DEGRADATION. 

Among  the  "  friends "  (Heaven  forgive  me  for  using  this 
sacred  word  in  this  connection  !)  —  among  the  acquaintances  I 
had  formed  at  this  time,  was  a  young  man  who  was  a  bar-tender 
at  one  of  the  saloons  which  I  frequented,  and  who  had  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  me  for  some  reason  or  other,  or  perhaps  with- 
out any  reason  at  all.  This  young  man  was,  I  suppose,  quite 
as  honest,  as  honesty  goes,  as  the  average  bar-keeper :  Le  did 
not,  I  presume,  abstract  any  more  than  the  usual  percentage 
from  the  "  till "  of  the  proprietor  of  the  place ;  he  did  not  exact 
any  more  than  the  bar-keeper's  ordinary  "  commission "  on 
"  sales,"  and  returned  as  large  a  proportion  of  the  liquor-money 
to  his  "boss"  as  the  rest  of  his  class  and  occupation.  But  he 
was  "  courting "  a  young  woman  who  lived  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  saloon,  and  who  was  herself  quite  in  demand  among  the 
swains  of  Montreal.  The  young  bar-keeper  had  several  rivals, 
and  among  them  a  young  mochanic  who  came  to  see  the  young 
lady  regularly  every  evening  after  his  day's  work  was  done, 
and  whose  addresses  were  received  with  favor  by  the  young 
lady's  mother  ;  though  the  girl  herself,  girl-like,  rather  affected 
the  young  bar-tender,  who  was  decidedly  good-looking.  Find- 
ing the  young  mechanic  at  the  house  every  night,  and  seeing 
the  mother's  preference  for  him,  the  young  bar-keeper  made  it 
a  point,  as  much  as  possible,  to  call  upon  the  daughter  during 

17 


18  WORSHIPPING  A  BAR-TENDER. 

the  day,  when  he  had  the  field  all  to  himsnlf ;  the  mother  being 
engaged  in  household  duties,  and  the  mechanic  being  liard  at 
work  at  his  shop.  But,  to  do  this  courting  by  daylight,  he  was 
obliged  to  neglect  his  duties  by  day,  such  as  they  were,  at  the 
saloon  at  which  he  was  employed.  Although  this  neglect  of 
duty  sat  lightly  on  his  conscience,  still  he  was  glad  when  the 
idea  occurred  to  him  one  day  to  get  me  to  tend  bar  during  his 
absences.  He  saw  that  I  had  nothing  to  do, — which  was  un- 
fortunately the  case ;  that  I  had  a  neat,  quick  way  with  my 
hands,  —  which  was  also  the  case ;  that  I  was  popular  among 
a  certai'i  set  of  drinking  boys  and  men,  and  might  induce  a 
certain  amount  of  custom,  —  which  was  the  case,  most  unfortu- 
nately of  all.  But  his  chief  dependence  was  my  affection  and 
respect  and  admiration  for  himself,  —  feelings  which  really  ex- 
isted for  him  in  my  breast.  All  boys  are  hero-worshippers  at 
heart.  They  detest  sham  instinctively ;  but,  down  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  being,  every  boy  cherishes  some  ideal,  good  or  bad, 
and  gives  it  the  tangible  shape  of  some  man  or  woman,  or  per- 
haps some  boy  or  girl,  whom  he  knows  and  worships.  The 
idol  may  be  unworthy  of  its  shrine,  and  disgrace  its  worship- 
per ;  but  it  is  adored  nevertheless,  with  a  zeal  seldom  given  to 
the  idols  of  later  life.  And  I  worshipped  just  then,  I  idealized 
and  idolized,  a  bar-keeper.  I  moulded  myself  after  his  fashion. 
I  took  him  for  my  pattern  as  far  as  I  could,  in  style  of  dress 
and  in  manner.  He  was  fond,  I  remember,  of  wearing  his  col- 
lar loose  around  his  neck,  —  a  turn-down  collar,  rather  wide  ; 
I  wore  a  similar  collai,  after  a  similar  fashion:  he  affected 
colored  handkerchiefs ;  I  invested  a  considerable  proportion 
of  my  "  netty  cash  "  in  colored  handkerchiefs :  he  had  a  rather 
free  and  easy  sailor-like  gait ;  I  tried  to  compass  a  similar 
v-M'iety  of  locomotion,  though  I  only  indifferently  succeeded : 
le  was  fond  of  "  slang,"  and  possessed  a  copious  vocabulary 
/.hereof;  I  absolutely  devoted  myself  assiduously  to  acquiring 


"A   GENTLEMAN'S  SON."  19 

all  the  "slang"  words  I  could  hear  or  remember,  and  became 
sufficiently  versed  in  "  argot "  to  have  pleased  in  that  respect 
a  Victor  Hugo.  Had  my  idol  been  a  great  and  a  good  man, 
and  had  I  imitated  him  with  a  like  sincerity,  I  would  have 
been  the  pattern  boy  of  my  time ;  but,  as  my  model  was  onl" 
a  bar-tender,  I  became  what  I  was.  But,  such  as  I  was,  I  suited 
the  young  bar-tender's  purposes  exactly ;  and  I  was  installed 
as  locum  tenens  while  he  was  "courting."  I  received  strict 
instructions  not  to  "  give  away  any  "  li(iuor,  to  allow  no  "  free  " 
drinks.  I  was  told  on  no  account  to  permit  anybody  behind 
the  bar,  or  to  allow  anybody  to  help  himself,  except  in  the 
regular  way,  from  a  bottle  placed  before  him  on  the  counter, 
in  exchange  for  currency.  I  was  cautioned  not  to  be  "too 
thick  "  or  intimate  with  my  boy  companions,  to  ever  preserve 
in  my  intercourse  with  them  a  certain  official  dignity  (?)  ;  save 
the  mark,  and  to  keep  an  eye  to  business.  A.bove  all,  I  was 
warned,  not  to  trifle  •with  the  receipts,  not  to  "knock  down" 
any,  but  to  return  faithfully  to  the  bar-keeper  every  coin  that  T 
received  from  customers. 

These  were  rather  'strange  cautions  and  instructions  to  be 
given  by  a  bar-tender  to  a  gentleman's  son :  but  degradation, 
like  misery,  makes  strange  companions ;  and  I  received  my 
orders  with  submissive  complacency,  and  at  first  sincerely 
endeavored  to  obey  them.  It  may  seem  strange  ;  but  I  really 
felt  a  certain  pride  in  my  position,  and  endeavored,  bo}'  as  I 
was,  to  make  a  model  bar-keeper.  Had  I  been  "  the  head  boy 
of  my  class,"  or  the  prize  scholar  of  a  Sunday  school,  I  could 
not  have  felt  more  the  "  dignity  "  of  my  position.  I  was  puffed 
out  with  a  sense  of  my  own  importance,  —  almost  weighed  down 
with  a  realization  of  my  responsibilities.  I  strutted  around  the 
bar-room  as  though  I  were  the  proprietor  thereof.  The  real 
proprietor,  by  the  by,  was  then  absent  from  the  city,  and  little 
dreamed  of  what  was  transpiring  in  his  absence. 


20       OXE  OF  THE  "BEfiT  FELLOWS  IN   THE   WOULD  " 

For  a  while  all  went  smoothly :  and  I  seemed  to  give  general 
satisfaction,  —  to  all  but  m}"^  boy  croiiios.  They  certainly  ex- 
pected, when  they  saw  me  assume  the  position  of  bar-keeper, 
that  they  would  have  "  the  free  run  "  of  the  bar-room ;  and, 
when  they  found  that  they  were  mistaken  in  this  idea,  they 
called  me  names,  and  tried  to  make  fun  of  me,  and  then  got 
downright  angry,  and  sent  me,  in  their  boyish  way,  to  Coventry, 
withdrew  their  companionship  from  me,  and  at  last  patronized 
an  opposition  saloon  across  the  way. 

I  saw  this  was  going  too  far,  and  relaxed  my  dignity ;  and, 
availing  myself  of  my  privilege  as  bar-keeper  to  invite  the  boys 
occasionally  to  a  drink,  I  managed  to  prevent  the  entire  with- 
drawal of  their  patronage. 

On  the  whole,  for  the  first  week,  I  discharged  my  rather  jier- 
plexing  duties  with  a  conscience  and  a  tact  worthy  of  some- 
thing far  better,  and  received  the  approval  of  my  idol,  the  young 
bar-keeper ;  who,  seeing  that  I  was  doing  well,  and  becoming 
himself  more  and  more  absorbed  in  his  courtship,  relaxed  in 
his  watchfulness  over  me,  and  let  me  do  pretty  much  as  I 
pleased.  And  then  I  followed  suit,  and  relaxed  my  own  watch- 
fulness over  myself.  Hitherto,  oddly  enough,  my  very  freedom 
to  drink  now  all  that  I  wanted  had  led  me  to  rather  less  indul- 
gence than  usual ;  but,  after  the  first  week,  I  yielded  to  my  pro- 
pensity for  stimulants,  and  became  one  of  the  "  best  customers  " 
of  my  own  bar.  I  blush  to  write  it,  even  now,  after  all  these 
years  ;  but  I  became  habitually  and  constantly  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor,  and,  during  the  second  week  of  my  bar-tending, 
hardly  ever  drew  a  sober  breath. 

And  my  conviviality  increased  with  my  intemperance.  I 
"  treated  "  my  boy  companions  more  frequently,  and  "  trusted  " 
them  for  drinks  more  and  more,  till  at  last  I  had  more  than 
regained  my  original  popularity  with  them,  and  was  known  as 
one  of  "  the  best  fellows  "  in  the  world,  —  a  sure  sign  that  I  was 


TRAININO  FOB  A  FIRST-CLASS  RASCAL.  21 

becoming  one  of  "  the  worst."  It  now  became  a  regular  thing 
to  find  some  dozen  or  more  lads  at  the  saloon  every  morning, 
drinking  and  making  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  "  bar,"  —  an 
assemblage  of  youthful  sots,  with  myself  as  head  toper.  I 
stationed  a  boy  at  the  door  of  the  saloon  to  keep  watch,  in  case 
the  bar-tender  should  suddenly  return ;  and,  meanwhile,  the 
stock  of  liquors,  cigars,  and  small-beer  was  suffering  depletion 
at  an  alarming  rate. 

Once,  while  in  the  midst  of  our  orgies,  the  boy  outside  rushed 
in  with  the  news  that  the  bar-tender  was  coming.  I  managed 
to  get  some  of  my  companions  out  by  a  side-door,  and  I  con- 
cealed some  others  in  a  closet ;  while  I  stepped  behind  the  bar, 
and  pretended  to  be  busily  engaged  in  serving  drinks  to  two  of 
the  oldest  lads,  who  I  made  it  a  point  to  see  paid  for  their 
liquor. 

The  bar-tender  then  suspected  nothing,  and  did  not  remain 
long.  But,  during  the  ten  minutes  of  his  stay,  I  contrived  to 
add  the  sins  of  lying  and  dishonesty  to  my  other  transgressions. 
For  I  deliberately  falsified  the  receipts  of  the  bar,  and  lied 
wholesale  about  every  thing  connected  with  the  management 
of  the  saloon.  And,  as  soon  as  the  bar-tender  left,  our  orgies 
were  resumed.  I  was  in  rapid  course  of  training  for  a  first-class 
rascal. 

So  far  no  contretemps  had  occurred ;  but  I  noticed  that  my 
idol,  the  bar-tender,  began  to  be  less  spruce  and  jovial  than  his 
wont,  and  to  neglect  the  fit  of  his  collar,  —  a  sure  sign  that 
something  was  the  matter.  As  I  afterwards  ascertained,  his  suit 
with  the  >oung  lady  was,  spite  of  all  his  exertions,  and  outlay 
of  time  and  "  taffy,"  not  progressing  favorably ;  and  the  me- 
chanic was  gaining  ground,  not  only  with  the  mother,  but  the 
daughter.  ■:,, 

This  rendered  him  moody,  irritable,  and  suspicious ;  and  at 
Last  the  " flare-up "  came.         t-       .  .  , 


22  KICKED  OUT  INTO  THE  STREET. 

One  morning  he  summoned  up  couivige  to  propose  direct  to 
his  young  lady,  was  refused  point-blank,  and  was  told  by  the 
mothor  not  to  enter  the  house  of  his  charmer  again.  This 
rendered  him  wild  with  rage  and  chagrin ;  and  in  this  mood  lie 
rushed  back  to  the  saloon,  to  drown  his  sorrows  in  spirits. 

At  that  precise  moment  1  was  surrounded  by  some  ten  lads, 
all  drinking  freely  at  my  (or,  rather,  the  establishment's) 
expense.  And,  as  luck  would  have  it,  I  had  forgotten  this 
morning  to  station  my  usual  "  lookout "  at  the  main  door. 

In  walked  the  angry  bar-keeper,  in  stalked  upon  us  the  dis- 
comfited lover;  and,  although  the  shock  sobered  me  for  a 
moment,  I  was  at  my  wit's  end.     I  saw  that  my  time  had  come. 

In  vain  I  flew  around,  or  tried,  with  my  unsteady  legs,  to 
seem  to  do  so.  In  vain  I  tried  to  convince  the  bar-tender  that 
I  was  working  for  his  interest.  The  room  was  filled  with  my 
companions,  all  more  or  less  intoxicated  The  vile  stuff  which 
formed  the  only  stock  in  trade  of  the  accursed  place  was  con- 
siderably reduced,  while  the  money-drawer  made  no  corre- 
sponding exhibit.  An  investigation  ensued,  —  short,  searching, 
and  decisive.  The  bar-keeper's  eyes  were  opened  now ;  and  he 
took  in  the  present  situation  and  the  recent  past,  in  a  ghmce. 

Cursing  his  folly,  his  love,  his  mechanic-rival,  and  himself, 
he  began  to  curse  me  and  my  companions.  And  then  —  I  blush 
to  say  it  —  he  kicked  us  boj^s  all  out  into  the  street,  commen- 
cing with  me  as  the  principal  offender. 

It  had  come  to  this.  I,  the  son  of  a  gentleman,  well  born 
and  carefully  reared,  the  child  of  hopes  and  prayers,  was  called 
"a  young  loafer,"  —  and  deserved  to  be  called  it,  —  and  was 
kicked  out  into  the  streets, — and  deserved  to  be  kicked,  —  by 
a  bar-tender. 

For  a  moment  I  was  too  dazed  and  too  drunk  to  fully  real- 
ize my  indignities.  I  only  felt  the  physical  pain  inflicted  by 
my  chastisement.     Then  I  began  to  feel  a  positive  mental  or 


"  '  So  yon  are  gottiii};  to  be  a  ilruukanl,  iinO  stealing  my  rum,'  tlic!  bar- 
keeper had  said  to  ine,  as  he  gave  me  his  last  kiok  into  tlie  street  "  [p.  23]. 


A  DRUNKARD  AND  A   LOAFER.  28 

sentimental  pain,  in  thus  having  broken  the  bond  that  had 
linked  mo  to  my  boyish  idol,  the  bar-keeper,  whoso  kicks  still 
smarted.  And  at  last  I  experienced  a  sense  of  my  own  degra- 
dation, —  a  bitter  sense  of  the  depths  to  which  I  had  fallen. 

"  So  you  are  getting  to  bo  a  drunkard,  and  stealing  my  rum," 
the  bartender  had  said  to  me  as  he  gave  me  his  last  kick  into 
the  sidewalk.  And  the  words  rang  in  my  ears,  —  a  loafer  and 
a  drunkard  —  a  drunkard  and  a  loafer.  A  mere  boy,  and  yet 
both. 

With  these  awful,  because  true,  words  sounding  in  my  ears, 
I  staggered  (I  would  have  rushed,  but  I  was  too  drunk  to 
"  rush  ")  away  from  my  companions,  and  burst  into  tears,  — 
tears  of  shame,  tears  of  real  though  unavailing  penitence, — 
which,  could  I  have  shed  them  under  a  father's  eye,  or  with  a 
head  buried  on  a  mother's  lap,  might  have  been  such  tears  as 
the  Peri  in  the  poem  would  have  gladly  presented  to  the  Most 
High  as  the  most  acceptable  of  all  offerings. 

But,  alas !  practically  fatherless,  motherless,  and  homeless  as 
I  was,  the  tears  soon  subsided  into  a  moodiness  of  shame,  in 
which  I  remembered  only  the  degradation  of  the  kick,  but 
forgot  the  still  greater  degradation  of  its  cause. 

And  all  that  day  I  wandered  aimless  through  the  streets  of 
Montreal,  utterly  wretched ;  and  the  night  closed  upon  me 
as  far  from  real  reformation  as  when  the  day  began. 

What  could  be  more  truly  terrible  than  my  position  ?  I  was 
a  gentleman's  son,  and  had  been  kicked  out  of  a  low  drinking- 
saloon.  T  was  a  mere  boy ;  yet  I  had  been  called  a  drunkard 
and  a  loafer,  and  had  deserved  my  titles. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  BAD  boy's  nnKAM.  —  a  DRUXKABD'a  NianTMAnK.  —  "  DAn-nooM  rniKNi)- 
8UIP8,"  TUBIlt  WOUTII  AND  WOnTIILESSNESB.  —  A  YOUTHFUL  SIMMKH 
AND  IU8  BORKOW8. — HOW  A  BOY  DltUNKAltD  WAS  SAVED. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  duty  I  owe  my  readers,  I  would  pass 
over  very  briefly  this  dark  period  of  my  early  life.  But  I  wish 
others  to  derive  benefit  from  my  experiences  ;  and,  therefore, 
my  first  evident  paramount  duty  is,  to  record  my  experiences 
just  as  they  really  were,  not  as  I  would  prefer  now  to  represent 
them. 

I  was  "  a  bad  boy,"  with  the  curse  of  an  already  acquired 
desire  for  stimulating  drinks  daily  fastening  itself  more  firmly 
upon  me.  If  any  fact  more  deplorably  pitiable  than  this  can  be 
stated,  I  have  not  yet  found  out  this  fact,  nor  would  I  know 
how  to  state  it. 

I  went  down  hill  rapidly,  suffering  step  by  step  as  I  went 
down.  After  my  experiences  in  the  saloon  where  I  "tended 
bar,"  I  carefully  avoided  entering  that  place :  but  there  were 
other  saloons ;  and  I  patronized  these,  so  far  as  my  daily  de- 
creasing means  would  allow.  I  got  into  the  habit  of  picking 
up  little  stray  jobs,  any  thing  to  get  a  little  money,  but  not  to 
buy  clothes  with,  though  I  was  "  seedy  "  and  "  shabby ;  "  not 
to  purchase  even  food  with,  though  I  was  occasionally  com- 
pelled now  to  "  go  hungry ; "  not  to  relieve  the  necessities  of 
my  scattered  family,  —  but  to  gratify  my  accursed  thirst  for 
strong  drink.     As  fast  as  I  earned  in  any  way  a  little  money, 


"  One  night  I  had  fiilhni  aslet^p  drunk  in  a  cart  nonr  a  Htalile.    1  awoko  with 
a  terrible  lieadaelip,  to  find  the  rain  pouring  down  upon  luo  "  [p.  26]. 


AN  OUTCAST'S  DUE  AM.  25 

I  would  hio  mo  to  some  Halooii,  Bomo  giUlod  or  not  gildod  "ruin- 
holo,"  and  spend  it. 

Often  the  shadea  of  evening  would  creep  over  the  earth,  find- 
ing me  at  my  unholy  revels,  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
low  companions.  And  then,  finding  that  I  was  unfit  to  appear 
in  the  presence  of  any  decent  man  or  woman,  I  would  slink 
away,  suppcrless,  ahout  nine  or  ten  o'clock  at  night,  to  some 
out-house  or  cellar  or  empty  wagon,  and  sleep  away  my  de- 
hauch. 

One  night  I  had  fallen  asleep  drunk  in  a  cart  near  a  stablo. 
I  awoke  with  a  terrible  headache,  to  find  the  rain  pouring 
down  upon  mo.  Dripping  wet,  I  arose,  ajul  walked  to  and  fro, 
from  one  place  of  temporary  shelter  to  another,  an  object  which 
even  the  horses  and  the  cattle  in  the  stables  could  have  pitied. 
But  yet  I  never  repented  of  the  fault  and  folly  which  was  thus 
rendering  rao  a  fit  object  for  even  a  brute  beast's  pity.  No : 
all  the  time  I  stood  and  watched  the  ceaseless  rain,  or  tried 
vainly  to  sleep  in  my  wet  rags, — for  they  Avcro  fccnrccly  more,— 
I  was  consumed  with  the  cursed  thirst  that  had  caused  all  my 
troubles.  I  was  eagerly  craving  a  chance  for  "  a  drink."  My 
morbid  fancy  was  conjuring  up,  in  ray  lonely  desolation,  vis- 
ions of  a  warm,  comfortably  elegant  room,  with  mirrors  and 
chandeliers  and  tables  and  a  fine  "  count'ir,"  and  an  array  of 
bottles,  full  of  wine  and  spirits,  with  a  plentiful  supply  of 
cigars,  —  a  room  in  which  I  was  the  central  figure,  the  lord  and 
the  proprietor  thereof,  enjoying  myself  with  and  enriching 
myself  by  my  customers.  In  my  fancy  I  saw  myself  mixing 
drinks:  in  my  fancy  I  felt  myself  drinking  them.  I  could 
almost  taste  the  liquor  as  it  poured  down  my  parched  throat. 
And  in  my  temporary  delirium  I  cried  aloud,  although  there 
were  none  to  hear  but  the  all-hearing  spirits  of  good  and  evil, 
"  Yes,  I  will  some  day  somehow  realize  this  <  .  eam :  somehow, 
sometime,  somewhere,  I  will  keep  a  bar-room, — my  own  bar- 


26  A   TERRIIiLE  VOW. 

room."  Thus,  in  the  storm  and  the  night,  I  made  a  vow  to 
become  some  day,  sooner  or  later,  a  rumseller,  with  a  "gin- 
mill  "  of  my  own.  It  was  a  singularly  sad  vow  for  a  mere  boy 
to  register.  It  evinced  what  may  be  termed  an  ambitious 
depth  of  depravity,  but  I  am  recording  the  simple  truth ;  and 
I  really  made  the  vow,  under  the  circumstances  I  have  de- 
scribed. And,  as  the  course  of  this  narrative  will  show,  I  after- 
wards fulfdled  it. 

It  seems  almost  incredible,  that  in  so  short  a  time  I  should 
Lave  been  brought  to  this  condition ;  but  thus  I  was,  and  I 
siw  not  the  doom  that  awaited  me.  I  look  back  now  on  this 
period  of  my  life,  and  wonder  why  I  was  sjjared ;  but  a  mer- 
ciful Providence  spared  me.  And,  thank  God !  the  same  kind 
hand  has  plucked  me  as  a  brand  from  the  burning ;  and  I  have 
lived  to  warn  my  fellow  sinners  and  sufferers,  both  by  my  voice 
and  my  pen,  and  to  denounce  that  terrible  tyrant,  alcohol,  as 
the  most  malignant  of  all  the  fien  Is  that  hell,  mth  all  its  in- 
finite spite  and  fury,  can  belch  forth  upon  the  earth. 

My  situation  at  this  period  of  my  career  was  wretched  in 
the  extreme,  and  became  more  miserable  every  day.  Indepen- 
dent of  my  terrible  faults,  my  woes  were  terrible :  my  poor 
mother  in  the  hospital,  my  father  a  bankrupt,  my  sister  out  in 
the  world,  and  the  rest  of  us  wretched  ones  Avith  only  the 
humblest,  barest  shelter,  and  often  deprived  of  fire  and  of 
food. 

And  now  I  began  to  feel  one  of  the  bitterest  pangs  of  pov- 
erty, —  the  scorn  of  those  who  had  Icnown  me  in  better  days. 

Hitherto  I  had  contrived,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  to  have  a 
little  money  to  spend,  even  though  I  spent  it  in  rum,  and 
although  I  had  in  every  way  misapplied  it ;  but  now  the  hour 
came  when  I  was  literally  jjenniless.  I  had  been  shabby  in 
clothes  for  a  considerable  period,  and  had  become,  as  it  were, 
used   to  it.     I  had  grown  accustomed  to  cold  and  to  scanty 


BAR-EOOM  FRTENDSniPS.  27 

food ;  I  had  even  become  accustomed  to  omitting  the  custom  of 
taking  my  regular  meals,  because  there  were  no  regular  meala 
for  me  to  take  ;  but  I  had  always  been  able,  no  matter  at  what 
risk  or  sacrifice,  to  have  enough  money  to  pay  for  an  occasional 
drink  for  myself  and  a  few  boon  companions,  whose  society, 
such  as  it  was,  I  courted,  and  with  whom  I  was  still,  to  a 
certain  degree,  popular. 

But  now,  face  to  face  with  absolute  penury,  I  had  no  means 
to  cater  to  bar-room  popularity.  Without  a  shilling,  I  was 
compelled  to  be  without  a  drink  and  without  a  friend.  True, 
for  a  daj^  or  so  I  was  able  to  "  drink,"  and  even  to  "  treat,"  on 
credit.  But  when  I  tried  to  solicit  new  favors,  without  settling 
the  old  score,  my  doom  was  sealed.  I  was  then  stamped  as  a 
"  beat "  and  a  "  pauper,"  and  I  was  driven  out  of  the  very  bar- 
rooms in  which  I  had  spent  my  money  freely  when  I  had  it. 
I  was  forbidden  to  enter  the  very  places  whose  coffers  I  had 
helped  to  fill. 

To  my  depraved  mind  and  vicious  habits,  these  bar-rooms 
represented  all  I  knew  and  cared  of  comfort.  The  tavern,  God 
help  me !  had  taken  the  place  of  the  home ;  and,  when  I  was 
turned  out  of  the  drinking-saloons,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had 
been  expelled  from  life  and  happiness.  I  felt  like  Adam  when 
driven  out  of  Eden. 

I  experienced  then  what  hundreds  and  thousands  have  ex- 
perienced before  me,  and  will,  alas!  I  fear,  experience  after 
me,  —  the  utter  worthlessness  of  bar-room  friendships.  Had  I 
been  wise,  this  lesson,,  impressed  so  forcibly  upon  me  at  so  early 
an  age,  would  have  had  a  beneficial  effect  upon  me ;  but  alas, 
alas  I  I  was  doomed  to  sin  and  suffer  on,  perhaps  that  my 
career  might  have  a  more  beneficial  effect  upon  others. 

It  is  often  urged,  in  extenuation  of  drinking,  that  it  is  a  so* 
cial  habit,  and  that  through  it  valuable  acquaintances  are  often 
formed.    Alas!  there  is  no  more  pernicious  falsehood  than  this; 


28  ^^DRINKING-ACQUAINTANCES." 

for  it  is  one  of  those  glitteringly  dangerous  lies  that  are  partly 
—  and  only  a  small  part  —  true- 
Acquaintances  are  formed  through  drinking-habits,  doubt- 
less, but  not  acquaintances  worth  the  risk  of  drinking,  not 
acquaintances  really  valuable,  honestly  worth  the  having  —  oh, 
no,  no !  a  thousand  times  no !  In  a  thousand  drinks  the 
drinker  cannot  hope  to  gain  one  friend. 

It  could  not  be  otherwise ;  for  certainly,  if  drinking-habits 
were  honestly  calculated  to  promote  sincere  friendships,  then 
would  intemperance  be  excusable,  —  almost  a  wisdom,  not  a 
folly  ;  almost  a  duty,  not  a  vice.  So  great  a  believer,  for  one, 
am  I  in  the  moral  beauty  and  practical  value  of  true  friendship, 
that,  if  I  honestly  believed  that  i«temperance  fostered  friend- 
shijj,  I  would  cease  to  advocate  temperance. 

But,  thank  God !  the  truth  is  just  the  other  way.  Intemper- 
ance, like  all  vice,  is  unfavorable  to  virtue,  and,  among  other 
virtues,  to  true  friendship.  Bar-room  friendships,  the  intima- 
cies of  intemperance,  are  merely  superficial.  They  last  only  as 
long  as  the  liquor  lasts  :  they  are  bounded  by  the  limits  of  the 
bar-room.  I  met  a  commercial  drummer  once  out  West,  and 
he  had  a  favorite  phrase  to  designate  such  people  as  he  only 
casually  or  slightly  knew.  Speaking  of  a  man  of  this  sort,  the 
drummer  would  allude  to  him  as  "only  a  drinking-acquaint- 
ance ; "  and  the  phrase  struck  me  as  a  very  suggestive  and  ap- 
posite one.  Believe  me,  0  my  reader !  the  men  you  drink  with 
are  not  "  friends,"  they  are  only  "  drinking-acquaintances." 

I  was,  at  this  period  of  my  life,  forced  to  learn  this  truth. 
Not  only  did  the  proprietors  and  employees  of  the  bar-rooms 
where  I  had  spent  my  money,  when  I  had  it,  ruthlessly  expel 
me  from  them  when  I  had  no  more  to  spend,  but  nr'  more 
intimate  companions,  lads  of  my  own  age,  my  fellow-uoys,  to 
use  a  most  common  and  expressive  phrase,  "  went  back  on 
me,"  turned  me  the  cold  shoulder,  and  abandoned  me.      ,     • 


B0Y-GRIEF8.  29 

In  the  slang  of  boys  nowadays  they  regarded  me  as  "  N.  G. : " 
I  was  "  phiyed  out." 

Among  my  companions  had  been,  for  several  months,  a 
young  lad,  whose  father  was  in  comfortable  circumstances,  and 
allowed  him  a  good  deal  (and  a  good  deal  too  much)  pocket- 
money,  which  never  remained  long  in  his  pocket,  but  found 
its  way  to  the  pockets  of  the  men  who  dealt  in  cigars,  liquors, 
or  dime  novels, —  three  commodities  Avhich,  with  boys  of  a 
certain  class,  generally  go  together;  and  all  go  one  way, — 
to  the  Devil. 

I  had  taken  a  sincere  liking  to  this  particular  lad,  and  we 
had  been  a  good  deal  together.  I  had  even  done  him  now  and 
then  little  favors ;  but  now,  when  in  my  poverty  I  solicited  a 
favor,  —  a  loan  of  a  little  money,  —  it  was  refused  on  some 
specious  plea,  such  as  boys,  in  an  emergency,  are  quite  as  ready 
with  as  men  ;  and  from  that  moment  the  boy  avoided  me,  as  if 
I  had  been  stricken  with  the  small-pox :  he  would  leave  a 
saloon  if  he  saw  me  entering  it ;  he  would  turn  round  the  street- 
corner  if  he  saw  me  approaching.  I  felt  this  keenly,  although 
1  was  too  proud  to  show  it.  But,  though  I  preserved  a  certain 
amount  of  boyish  dignity  (there  is  such  a  thing,  as  every  boy 
or  man  who  remembers  his  boyhood  can  testify)  in  the  presence 
of  others,  I  wept  many  a  bitter  tear  in  secret,  more  over  the 
loss  of  the  once  delightful  companionship  and  the  destruction 
of  my  cherished  dreams,  than  over  the  more  material  depriva- 
tions to  which  it  subjected  me.  Boy-griefs  are  as  hard  to  bear 
for  boys,  as  after-sorrows  are  for  men  ;  and  my  grief  just  then 
was  bitter. 

Another  lad  with  whom  I  had  become  intimate  was  a  trades- 
man's son,  of  a  less  literary  turn  in  the  line  of  dime  novels 
than  the  boy  just  mentioned.  The  former  might  be  classed 
among  lads  of  a  somewhat  "sentimental"  turn  of  mind,  but 
the  tradesman's  son  was  essentially  "practical."     He  prided 


80  A   "KNOWING"   CHAP. 

himself,  evien  at  his  early  age,  on  "  knowing  the  world  "  (that 
is,  such  parts  or  phases  of  the  world  as  were  not  worth  know- 
ing) ;  and  he  had  been  looked  up  to  by  other  boys,  and  by 
myself,  as  quite  an  "  oracle." 

This  "  knowing  "  chap  soon  taught  me  that  he  "  knew  "  me,  — 
knew  how  utterly  hopeless  and  moneyless  was  my  condition ; 
for  when  I  came  to  him  and  asked  him,  in  my  extremity,  for  a 
little  pecuniary  aid,  he  told  me,  with  "  a  brutal  frankness  "  which 
would  have  pleased  Bismarck,  that  he  had  all  he  could  do  to  take 
care  of  himself,  and  that  he  didn't  propose  to  do  any  thing  for 
anybody  for  nothing.  "  If  I  wanted  some  money,  why  didn't 
I  pick  it  up  for  myself,  as  he  did  ?  " 

Now,  as  I  wasn't  as  "  posted  "  on  horse-flesh  and  cards  as  this 
jockey  and  gamester  of  fifteen  years,  and  as  I  had  not  yet  made 
as  many  disreputable  acquaintances  as  he  had  done,  and  could 
not  therefore  do  as  many  "  odd  "  dirty  jobs  for  them  as  he  was 
constantly  doing,  I  was  not  able  to  "  pick  up  money  for  myself 
as  he  did ; "  although,  alas !  I  fear  that  I  was  quite  as  willing 
to  "  pick  it "  up  this  or  any  other  way  just  then,  hud  I  been 
able. 

Thank  Heaven  1  though  bad  enough,  I  never  then,  or  at  any 
other  time  in  my  life,  was  tempted  to  steal.  I  had  no  scruples 
of  conscience  against  vice.  I  had  become  familiarized,  child  as 
I  still  was,  with  many  kinds  of  low  iniquity.  I  had  soiled  my 
hands  and  soul  at  various  times  with  petty  swindling  and 
cheating,  —  as  in  my  episode  as  amateur  bar-tender,  already  de- 
scribed. But  I  had  never  directly  stolen.  And  novr,  in  my 
utterly  penniless  condition,  even  now,  I  was  not  induced  to 
steal,  to  become  what  is  even  one  step  lower  than  a  drunkard, 
—  a  thief.    I  thank  Heaven  for  this. 

But  I  was  indescribably  miserable.  Perhaps  in  all  my  after- 
life I  never  suffered  more  than  I  suffered  no'v  as  a  boy,  —  a 
boy  without  parents,  — practically  so ;  a  boy  without  home ;  a  boy 


TUB  BAD  EOT.  81 

without  money ;  and  a  boy  without  friends.  God  help  the  boy 
who  feels  as  I  felt  then  ! 

Hungry  and  cold,  and  shabby  to  the  last  stfige  of  shabbiness, 
thirsting  with  a  young  drunkard's  ever  unsatisfied  and  fiery 
thirst,  without  a  dollar,  and,  what  was  even  worse  to  me  then, 
without  a  companion  in  the  world,  I  brooded  solitary  over  my 
sorrows. 

Though  I  had  lived  but  a  few  short  years,  yet  I  was  already 
weary  of  life.  Mere  boy  as  I  was,  existence  seemed  to  me  a 
conundrum,  —  a  terrible  conundrum  ;  and  like  Smith,  in  Broug- 
ham's "  Pocahontas,"  I  felt  inclined  to  "  lie  down  and  give  it  up." 

Though  but  a  boy,  I  now  for  a  moment  felt  all  that  mad 
desire  for  self-annihilation  which  oftentimes  possesses  the 
world-wearied,  life-exhausted  man.  True,  I  thought  with  a 
little  regret  of  the  dear  father  and  mother  whom  I  was  never 
to  see  again.  True,  I  looked  back  fondly  in  memory  to  the 
dear  home  under  the  wing  of  the  grand  cathedral.  True,  I 
remembered  fondly  some  pleasant  sports  in  summers  and  in 
winters  past.  But  I  also  felt  vividly  my  present  loneliness,  my 
poverty,  my  broken  home,  my  desolation,  my  lost,  false,  heart- 
less companions.  And  I  thought,  in  my  moody,  boyish  way, 
that  if  I  was  once  dead,  —  once  but  dead,  —  all  my  hungering 
and  thirsting  and  shivering,  and  being  laughed  at  and  sneered 
at,  and  shunned  and  snubbed,  would  be  over  and  ended ,  and  I 
would  be  out  of  the  way,  and  life  would  be  out  of  the  way,  for- 
ever. 

While  standing  one  dark  night  at  a  street-corner,  terribly 
despondent,  I  heard  a  voice  —  a  cheery,  hearty  voice  —  cry  out, 
"  Why,  Doutney,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

What  was  I  doing,  indeed?  I  looked  round,  and  saw  a 
young  lad  of  my  acquaintance  approaching.  He  was  not  one 
of  my  "  drinking  acquaintances,"  —  oh,  no !  The  unsopliisticated 
lad  who  was  now  approaching  me  had  never,  probably,  been  in- 


32  THE  GOOD  BOY. 

side  a  bar-room  in  his  dull,  uneventful,  humdrum  life.  He, 
quiet  chap,  was  not  in  the  habit  of  attending  the  theatre,  and 
I  suppose  would  not  have  known  what  "  a  bill-board  ticket " 
meant.  He  knew  so  little  of  the  world,  this  mere  boy,  that  I 
do  not  suppose  he  could  distinguish  by  taste  the  difference  be- 
tween whiskey  and  brandy.  He  was  what  boys  of  my  class 
had  been  wont  to  call  a  "  muff,"  or  "  a  milksop,"  — a  boy  who 
attended  Sunday  school,  didn't  know  how  to  play  cards,  didn't 
smoke,  didn't  swear,  didn't  do  any  thing  that  was  done  by  boys 
of  spirit,  and  spirits  like  myself.  But  still,  there  he  was,  ad- 
vancing towards  me,  happy,  healthy,  hearty,  well-clad,  going 
liome,  I  supposed,  to  family  prayers  maybe,  but  still  to  a  family 
and  a  home.  While  I  —  I,  who  a  few  weeks  ago  would  have 
despised  this  happy  milksop  and  "  good  boy  "  —  was  — 

But,  before  I  could  fully  realize  the  contrast  between  us  two, 
the  boy  had  come  up  to  the  corner  where  I  stood  with  despair 
in  my  soul.  And  then  —  to  this  hour  I  cannot  distinctly  re- 
member how  it  all  came  about  —  but  in  a  moment  more  I 
found  myself  telling  my  companion  all  about  myself,  my  faults, 
my  fully.  I  found  myself  crying,  with  my  liead  on  his  shoulder, 
—  crying  like  a  child,  indeed,  —  crying  as  if  my  heart  would 
break.  The  boy  had  asked  a  few  childish  questions,  said  a  few 
childishly  kind  words;  and  the  flood-gates  of  my  heart  had 
been  opened.  His  utterly  unexpected  kindness  had  healed  the 
wounds  inflicted  upon  my  heart  by  the  as  utterly  unexpected 
desertion  of  my  former  companions.  His  soothing  sympathy 
had  brought  me  back  from  desperate,  moody  despair  to  healthy, 
human  sorrow,  which,  shared  by  another,  was  lessened,  almost 
sweetened. 

In  a  few  minutes  I,  the  boy-drunkard,  who  had  naturally, 
step  by  step,  become  the  boy-outcast,  was  walking  almost  hap- 
pily side  by  side  Avith  a  boy  —  a  pious.  God-fearing  boy  —  whom 
I  had  previously  only  sneered  at  and  despised.    And,  in  a  few 


A   BOY  SAVED  BY  A   BOY.  88 

minutes  more,  I,  the  homeless  wantlerer  of  the  streets,  was  ia 
the  midst  of  a  happy  home-circle,  seated  beside  a  cheerful  fire,  ■ 
eating  with  a  reiish,  and  drinking,  not  vile  whiskey  or  beer,  but 
harmless,  liealthful  tea ;  while  my  boy -preserver  bustled  about, 
doing  all  he  could,  in  company  with  his  little  sister,  to  make 
nie  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

His  father  and  mother  had  known  my  father  and  nidther 
years  before ;  and  for  their  sakes  and  mine,  and,  above  all,  in- 
duced by  their  own  goodness  and  kindness,  they  were  that 
night  and  the  next  day  very  good  and  kind  to  me,  a  waif 
and  a  stray. 

That  night,  instead  of  Ij'ing  in  a  gutter,  perhaps  passing  from 
insensibility  into  eternity,  I  was  snugly  tucked  up  in  a  com- 
fortable bed,  with  my  boy-preserver  as  my  room-mate.  And 
bad  boy  as  I  was,  degraded  drunkard,  and  almost  desperate 
and  reckless  as  I  had  been  that  night,  I  felt  grateful  to  a  God 
in  whom  I  had  that  night  learned  to  believe,  by  the  irresistible 
argument  of  being  brought  into  contact  with  those  who  believed 
»  in  and  loved  and  served  Him. 

And  when  ray  boy-preserver,  just  before  going  to  bed,  knelt 
down  at  his  bedside,  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  I  did  not 
then  think  or  call  him  a  cad  or  a  muff  or  a  milksop:  I  did  not 
then  sneer  or  laugh  at  the  pious  Sunday-school  boy.  No :  I 
felt  then  and  there,  in  my  inmost  heart  of  hearts,  that  he  was 
wiser  in  his  innocence,  on  his  knees,  with  his  prayers,  than  a 
thousand  such  as  I  of  bar-room  loafers  and  loungers. 

And,  feeling  this,  I  humbly  crept  to  his  side,  fell  on  my- 
knees  with  him,  and  for  the  first  time,  alas !  for  years,  prayed' 
to  "  Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  TUnNINO  OF  THE  TIDE. —THE  TIUP  TO  "THE  HUB." —  "  DIME  NOVEL "- 
ISM. —THE  TWO  nOLD  BOSTON  B0CCANEEK8,  AND  WUAT  BECAME  OF 
THEM. — THE   BOY   IS  THE   FATHEU  OF  THE   MAN. 

The  tide  had  turned.  My  evil  fortunes  had  reached  their 
lowest  el»b  at  the  moment  of  my  deepest  despair  and  my  provi- 
dential preservatioi'.  From  that  moment  good  luck,  or,  shall 
I  not  more  reverently  say,  a  kind  Providence,  cojitinued  to 
smile  upon  me. 

Just  as  the  kind,  truly  Christian  father  and  mother  of  my 
boy-preserver  took  me  in  hand,  to  see  if  they  could  not  procure 
me  a  situation  in  some  store  or  office,  to  keep  me  independent, 
and  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief,  I  received  a  letter  from  my 
dear  father,  informing  me  that  good  fortune  had  befallen  him 
also,  and  that  now  he  had  arranged  for  me  to  come  to  Boston, 
where  I  could  live  and  be  educated  at  the  House  of  the  Angel 
Guardian  in  Roxbury. 

This  was  far  from  being  a  brilliant  future,  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly far  better  than  the  life  I  had  been  leading  of  late ;  and 
it  was  preferable,  I  thought,  to  working  hard  in  some  office  or 
place  of  business :  so  I  immediately  obeyed  my  father's  sum- 
mons ;  and,  bidding  a  grateful  good-by  to  my  benefactors,  I 
started  on  the  train  from  Montreal  to  Boston.  I  had  an- 
nounced my  departure  for  Boston  to  a  number  of  my  compan- 
ions, and  had  made  the  most  of  my  good  luck  in  nan-ating  to 
them,  and  unconsciously  exaggerating,  the  "good  luck"  whicli 
had  happened  to  my  father.    I  had  enough  of  "  human  nature  " 

34 


nVMAN  NATURE  IN  HOYS.  85 

in  me  to  make  a  point  of  dilating  upon  my  rose-colored  pros- 
pects to  those  who  had  snubbed  n»e  and  been  cold  to  me  in  my 
recent  misfortunes.  I  was  particularly  eloquent  upon  my 
future  prosi)ects  (?)  in  the  presence  of  my  former  companions, 
the  dime-novel  reader  and  the  young  lad  of  a  "  practical "  turn 
of  mind,  who  liad  treated  my  misfortunes  with  such  indiffer- 
ence. I  must  have  led  them  to  imagine  that  my  father  had 
been  left  a  large  fortune,  and  that  I  was  rich  for  life  ;  and  I 
heartily  enjoyed  the  changed  manner  of  these  and  my  other 
companions  towards  me.  I  noticed  how  much  more  cordial 
and  even  respectful  they  were  to  me  now  than  before;  and  I 
Iieartily  enjoyed  the  change,  though  I  cordially  despised  them 
for  changing.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  boys  are  not  as 
selfish  and  as  politic  as  men.  "  The  boy  is  the  father  of  the 
man;"  and  just  as  "the  world"  and  worldly  ideas  and  inter- 
ests control  the  man,  so  they  modify,  if  thej'  do  not  positively 
control,  the  boy.  The  boy  whose  father  is  "  in  luck  "  will  be 
held,  among  most  other  boys,  to  be  in  luck  himself,  and  will 
receive  a  share  of  attention  and  admiration  much  greater  than 
will  generally  be  awarded  to  the  son  of  a  poor  or  unfortunate 
father. 

So  I,  a  boy  aboiit  to  be  sent  on  to  the  great  city  of  Boston, 
where  I  was  to  live  comfortably  and  be  educated  (that  was  the 
idea  I  gave  out,  in  fact  that  was  the  idea  I  entertained  myself, 
not  exactly  knowing  what  the  peculiar  character  of  "  The 
House  of  the  Angel  Guardian  "  n  iglit  be),  was  considered  and 
treated  very  differently  from  the  way  I  had  been  treated  but 
recently,  when  I  had  been  regarded  as  an  almost  pauper  boy, 
the  son  of  a  ruined  man,  who  had  not  a  dollar  in  the  world. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  would  have  commemorated 
my  "good  luck,"  such  as  it  was,  by  drinking,  and  by  inviting 
my  companions  to  drink;  but  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  state 
that  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind  just  then.     I  had  had  enough 


86  "A   COLD-iVATER  HOUSEHOLD." 

of  drinking  for  ii  while.  I  hud  not  yet  become  the  constant, 
confirmed,  invuteruto  hIuvc  of  intoxicating  drink.  I  wu8  but  a 
young  fool,  and  therefore  not  quite  8o  persistently  foolisli  as  an 
old  fool.     I  had  my  lucid  intervals,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 

Besides,  I  have  always  been  of  a  very  inipresHionable  nature, 
—  a  temperament  which  has  alike  its  great  advantages  and 
disadvantages,  but  of  which  I  reaped  one  of  the  advantages 
now. 

I  was  completely  at  this  period  under  the  blessed  influence 
of  the  temperate  and  Christian  family  which  had  rescued  me 
from  despair  and  possibly  from  death.  The  head  of  tliis 
happy  household,  the  husband  and  father,  was  a  sincere  and 
sensible  temperance  advocate,  both  in  theory  and  practice ; 
and  I  had  been  forcibly  impressed,  and,  under  the  circum- 
stances, most  favorably.  I  was  too  young,  perhaps,  to  liave 
fully  understood  all  the  "  total-abstinence  "  arguments ;  but  I 
could  already  understand,  ay,  better  than  nu)st  grown  men, 
the  inestimable  advantages  of  "  total-abstinence "  practices. 
I  could  not  help  being  led  to  contrast  the  health,  the  steady 
happiness,  the  industry  and  peace  and  order,  of  this  "cold- 
water"  household,  with  the  heated  life  and  disorder  and 
racket  and  dissipation  of  the  bar-rooms  and  saloons  which  had 
for  so  long  now  stood  to  me  in  the  place  of  a  home.  Nor  could 
I  help  contrasting  my  boy-preserver,  the  only  son  and  pride 
and  hope  of  this  temperance  household,  with  his  ruddy  cheeks, 
his  bright  eyes,  his  sturdy  frame,  his  well-regulated  nerves,  his 
excellent  digestion,  his  regular  sleep,  and  his  love  for  out-door 
exercise,  with  the  sunken  cheeks,  tlie  wasted  frame,  the  wild 
or  dulled  eyes,  the  "  shaky  "  nerves,  the  ruined  health,  lost 
appetite,  and  inert  indigestion,  which  characterized  so  many 
of  the  boys  and  men  whom  I  knew  as  addicted  to  drink. 

I  was  no  fool,  except  when  directly  under  the  influence  of 
my  curse :  and  I  saw  how  infinitely  preferable  was  temperance 


MT  UNEXPECTED  COMPANIONa.  87 

to  intemperance ;  and  tliorefore,  whilo  under  tlio  influence  and 
in  the  boaora  of  this  well-reguhited  liou«oiiold,  I  was  perfectly 
sober  and  temi)eriito  myself,  and  began  to  regain  my  health, 
which  had  been  severely  shattered  by  my  recent  course  of  life, 
iind  to  even  enjoy  life  once  more  in  a  healthy,  rational  fashion, 
as  a  boy  should. 

I  became  greatly  attached  to  my  boy-preserver  and  to  his 
interesting  family,  and  tliey  became  sincerely  fond  of  me.  lint 
it  was  thought  best  all  round,  that  1  should  follow  my  father's 
wishes,  and,  going  to  Boston,  avail  myself  of  whatever  he 
had  prepared  for  mo  there. 

So,  as  I  stated  some  pages  previously.  I  took  the  train  from 
Montreal  to  Boston  ;  but  I  did  not  start  alone.  I  had  two  un- 
asked for,  unexpected  companions,  —  two  lads  considerably 
younger  even  than  myself,  who  iuHisted  on  accompanying  me, 
and  ill  a  rather  peculiar  fashion.  Among  my  Montreal  com- 
jianions  had  been  two  boys,  cousins  and  chums,  the  children  of 
two  respectable  tradesmen  of  my  father's  acjquaintance.  There 
was  nothing  remarkable  or  striking  about  the  characters  of 
those  two  lads ;  they  were  not  specially  bright  or  provokingly 
(lull ;  they  were  neither  abnormally  good  nor  bad  ;  but  they  had 
cultivated  a  taste  for  "  light  literature  "  in  the  story-paper  and 
"dime-novel"  form,  until  this  taste  had  grown  into  a  positive 
mania. 

They  had  read  all  sorts  of  "  boys'  books  "  (which,  by  the  by, 
are  often  the  very  worst  possible  kind  of  books  for  boys),  and 
were  perfect  walking  libraries  of  juvenile  "flash-literature." 
They  spent  all  their  pocket-money,  not  for  vile  spiiits,  as  I  had 
been  doing,  but  for  almost  equally  pernicious  pi'inted  stuff, 
which  demoralized  their  little  minds  as  my  liquid  "stuff"  had 
demoralized  my  youthful  nerves.  They  were  regular  readers 
of  the  "police"  papers,  and  the  flash  "story-papers,"  and 
books  of  wild  —  very  wild —"  adventure  "  in  the  Far  —  very, 


88  DIME-NOVEL   LUNATICS. 

very  fur  —  West.  MoHt  boys  iiro  prono  to  what  may  ho  styled 
*'tlinie  nover'-ism.  Iliad  met  other  lads  with  this  tendency, 
as  I  have  previously  mentioned ;  but  these  two  boys  were  the 
two  most  confirmed  dime-novel  lunatics  I  ever  remember  coming 
across.  Pirates  were  as  familiar  to  them  as  pies,  possibly  more 
80.  Buccaneers  of  the  Spanish  (it  generally  is  the  Spanish) 
Main  were  as  common  as  their  daily  bread  and  butter.  The 
big,  bloody  Indian,  with  his  waistband  full  of  recking  scalps, 
was  their  poclcet-compunion ;  and  they  were  experts  in  all 
varieties  of  the  war-whoop.  Tlie  Italian  bandit,  with  his 
beautiful  captive  hidden  in  a  cave  in  the  dense  forests,  and  a 
stiletto  carried  in  his  hand,  was  an  evory-day  affair;  and  mur- 
der, suicide,  poisoning,  scuttling  of  ships,  cutting  of  throats, 
etc.,  were  as  much  in  tlusir  line  as  playing  marbles  or  hockey, 
—  if  any  thing,  more  in  it. 

Jack  Sheppard  was  their  idol,  their  hero :  Dick  Turpin  was 
the  very  god  of  their  idolatry.  They  knew  ten  times  more 
about  the  history  of  Jonathan  Wild  than  they  did  about  the 
history  of  England.  And  from  reading  books  of  adventure, 
and  believing  in  them,  to  becoming  adventurers  themselves, 
was  but  a  step.  From  dreaming  of  highwaymen  and  bucca- 
neers and  wild  Indians,  to  endeavoring  to  imitate  their  bloody 
and  exciting  excellences,  was  only  a  natural  progression. 

So  when  these  two  bloody  minded,  blood-and-thunder  literary 
lads  heard  that  I  was  going  to  "see  life,"  and  "begin  the 
world  "  at  Boston,  —  the  great  Boston,  —  they  determined  to  go 
with  me,  in  search  of  adventure  and  glory  and  gore,  and  hidden 
treasure  and  scalps.  "  The  young  rovers  of  Montreal,"  or  "  the 
two  bold  buccaneers  of  Boston,"  would  be  ^bout  their  "size" 
of  manliness ;  and  they  made  their  preparations  on  this  basis. 

They  raked  and  scraped  all  the  money  they  could  get  to- 
gether, by  selling  out  their  stock  of  tops  and  marbles,  and 
borrowing  right  and  left  under  all  sorts  of  lying  pretences,  —  for 


THE  PIRATES  OF  THE  FUTURE.  89 

lying,  of  cour?  •  wis  a  mero  bagatelle  to  ftiimtour  pirates  and 
prospect!. 0  murilcrers,  —  anil  even  stealing  from  their  mothers 
and  fatlieis,  jnst  by  way  of  preparation  for  futnro  burghiries. 
With  tlio  money  thus  surreptitiously  ac»iuired,  —  some  shillings, 
—  the  wonld-he  scoundrels  of  the  deepest  dye  purchased  an 
outfit  of  deliberate  villany,  comprising  two  big  clasp-knives, 
coming  as  near  to  the  bowie-knit'e  of  Western  civilization  as 
their  limited  means  would  allow  ;  two  lifth  or  sixth  hand  pistols, 
which  were  warranted  to  kill,  and  which  certainly,  if  they  ever 
had  gone  off,  would  have  killed  those  who  fired  them  off; 
powder,  etc. ;  and,  of  course,  a  deck  of  cards,  some  tobacco,  and 
a  "pocket-pistol  "  of  whiskey,  without  which  last  three  articles 
they  never  could  have  undertaken  to  be  cut-throats  or  pirates 
of  any  pretence  to  criminal  standing.  Having  thus  provided 
for  all  the  possibilities  of  piracy  and  rapine,  the  two  incipient 
villains  of  the  deepest  hue  stole  from  their  homes  by  the  back- 
door, gliding  off  as  quietly  and  speedily  as  possible,  lest  their 
mothers  might  see  them,  and  call  them  back.  Imagine  two 
pirates  of  the  future  being  called  back  home,  and,  it  nmy  be, 
spanked,  by  their  mothers!  Having  effected  their  escape,  the 
two  juvenile  murderers,  breathing  the  exhilarating  air  of 
liberty,  emancipated  from  the  thraldom  of  the  parental  roof, 
clutching  their  clasp-knives,  and  feeling  fondly  the  pistols  in 
their  pockets,  and  their  pocket-pistols,  strode  hastily  toward 
the  railroad-depot,  the  younger  and  more  desperate  ruffian 
of  the  two  stopping  on  his  way,  however,  to  invest  five  cents 
in  "  taffy,"  —  a  sort  of  candy  of  which  the  youthful  monster, 
notwithstanding  his  depravity,  was  very  fond.  Imagine  a 
bloody-minded  pirate  sucking  candy! 

The  two  desperate  ruffians  reached  the  train  for  the  States 
a  few  minutes  before  the  time  for  departure,  and  contrived  to 
enter  the  hind-car,  then  empty,  unobserved,  and  concealed 
themselves  under  the  seats. 


I 

40  TWO  MEMENTOS  OF  MONTREAL. 

All  this  was  utterly  unknown  to  me  at  the  time ;  the  plan  of 
the  two  desperadoes  being,  to  wait  till  the  train  had  started, 
with  me  on  board,  and  then  to  reveal  their  presence  to  me, 
and  to  throw  themselves  on  my  generosity,  friendship,  and 
inlluence  with  the  conductor.  Two  pirates,  they  imagined,  in 
their  innocence  (?)  of  the  world,  that,  because  I  liad  my  fare 
paid  for  me  to  Boston,  I  must  be  a  very  rich  and  important 
boy  indeed ! 

But,  as  chance  arranged  it,  they  did  not  have  to  wait  till  the 
train  started  to  discover  me ;  or,  rather,  1  discovered  them.  I 
took  my  place  in  the  rear  car,  and  sat  me  down  right  over  one 
of  the  croucl.ing  pirates,  talked  to  the  kind  lad  who  had  been 
such  a  blessing  to  me,  and  who  had  accompanied  me  to  the 
train ;  bade  him  good-by  with  tears  of  real  affection  and  grati- 
tude in  my  eyes,  and  just  as  I  was  reseating  myself,  after 
waving  my  hand  to  him  from  the  window,  saw  a  foot  under  my 
seat  —  started  —  then  started  still  more,  as  I  saw  a  head  peer 
out,  and  recognized  the  head  as  belonging  to  one  of  my  former 
companions,  —  one  of  those  whom  I  was  just  then  thinking  I 
was  leaving,  perliaps,  forever. 

To  say  that  I  was  surprised,  and  then  glad,  is  to  use  very 
mild  language  indeed.  Luckily  there  was,  just  tlien,  no  one 
in  the  car  to  observe,  either  my  wonder  or  my  delight. 

In  a  few  hurried  words  I  got  from  the  two  budding  bucca- 
neers the  general  idea  of  their  position  and  their  intentions, 
and  entered  myself  heartily  into  the  situation.  I  had  felt  terri- 
bly lonely  leaving  my  birthplace,  my  only  home  for  so  many 
years,  Montreal.  And  here  was  a  link  supplied  mo  by  chance, 
a  tie  still  connecting  me  with  the  dear  old  town,  a  memento  of 
Montreal,  —  two  mementos,  —  sent  on,  as  it  were,  with  me.  I 
did  not  feel  at  all  lonely  now,  with  these  two  abandoned  vil- 
lain' '  ying  r>t  my  feet. 

Oi  course,  I  smiled  at  their  plans  of  plunder  and  piracy.    I 


A  PROTECTOR  OF  BIGnWAY  BOYS.  41 

laughed  at  their  schemes  of  unbritlled  license  and  adventure. 
I  was  several  years  older  than  either  of  the  bloody-minded 
rascals,  and  had  never  been  so  impressed  with  dime  novels  as 
to  lose  my  head.  That  was  not  my  special  weakness.  I  fully 
realized  that  Boston,  from  what  little  I  had  heard  of  it,  was 
scarcely  likely  to  prove  the  place  for  successful  plunder,  save 
by  grown-up  lawyers,  politicians,  and  tradesmen,  in  the  regular 
way ;  I  surmised  that  there  was  a  very  slim  chance  indeed  for 
boy-buccaneers  in  the  city  of  baked  beans,  and  that  the  Yan- 
kees would  not  tremble,  even  at  the  clasp-knives  and  pistols 
of  my  two  child-companions :  still,  there  was  something  in  the 
"  romance  of  the  thing  "  that  appealed  to  my  boyish  imagina- 
tion strongly ;  there  was  something  in  the  "  running  away  "  of 
the  precious  pair,  and  their  hiding  away,  which  fascinated  me. 
Above  all,  I  was  glad  of  their  company  on  my  way  to  a  strange 
city:  it  relieved  greatly  the  home-sickness  that  was  already 
beginnhig  to  steai  over  me,  and  I  felt  flattered  at  their  appeals 
for  my  protection.  The  amateur  cut-throats  evidently  looked 
up  to  me  as  to  a  superior  boy,  almost  a  man,  —  a  boy  who  was 
"  travelling  "  open  and  above  board,  a  boy  who  knew  the  world, 
a  boy  who  had  his  ticket  paid  to  Boston ;  and  they  evidently 
depended  on  this  highly  favored  and  enlightened  boy  to  aid 
them  in  tl*eir  distress,  and  to  carry  them  to  Boston  with  him, 
or,  rather,  under  him :  need  I  say  that  their  trust  was  not  in 
vain?  Need  I  say  that  I  would,  just  then,  rather  have  died  — 
nay,  rather  ha\e  lost  my  trip  to  Boston  myself — than  have  be- 
trayed the  two  defenceless  pirates  and  highway  men  —  I  mean 
highway  boys — who  thus  trusted  in  and  to  me  ?  Need  I  say  that 
I  at  once  assumed  an  air  of  stupendous  wisdom  and  magnifi- 
cent condescension,  and  promised  them  the  full  benefit  alike 
of  my  extensive  experience,  and  acquaintance  with  the  world 
and  the  conductor,  in  case  of  emergency  ?  Need  I  say  that  I 
gently  soothed  their  fears,  calmed  their  agitation,  and  assured 


42  IN  HIDING. 

them,  in  a  benignant  way,  that  I,  even  I,  would  see  tliem 
througli ;  smiling,  as  I  said  so,  in  a  sort  of  superior,  far-off  way, 
as  though  I  had,  years  ago,  been  a  pirate  once  myself,  and 
scuttled  ships  upon  the  SpiiMish  Main,  had  been  a  bold  Boston 
buccaneer,  and  had  forgotten  or  almost  forgotten,  all  about  it. 

My  assurances  satisfied  my  two  pirates,  who  thereupon  cud- 
dled themselves  under  the  two  seats,  —  the  seat  I  occupied  and 
the  seat  behind, — and  kept  quiet  for  a  while ;  the  younger,  and, 
as  I  have  before  described  him,  the  more  desperate,  ruffian  of 
the  two,  who  was  stretched  out,  or,  rather,  stretched  in,  under 
the  seat  behind  me,  even  betaking  himself  in  his  momentary 
peace  and  security  to  sucking  at  liis  five-cents'  worth  of  "taffy." 

But  it  was  now  my  turn  to  think  and  worry.  I  had  assumed 
the  responsibility  of  protecting  these  two  wandering  villains. 
I  had  contracted,  as  it  were,  to  see  them  through  to  Boston  at 
least ;  but  had  I  not  undertaken  too  big  a  contract  ?  As  I  began 
to  think  of  the  risks  they  had  to  run,  my  head  began  to  swim  , 
and  I  almost  wished  that  the  two  monsters  of  iniquity  were 
safe  back  at  home  in  their  motliers'  arms,  or,  for  that  matter, 
even  on  their  mothors'  knees,  stretched  out  heads  downwards, 
—  at  any  rate,  somewhere  else  than  right  under  me. 

I  knew  very  little  about  railroad-travelling  myself;  but  I 
knew  that  their  only  chance  was  to  dodge  tlie  conductor,  for 
that  nothing  I  could  say  or  do  would  be  of  any  avail.  I  would 
now  lave  willingly  paid  their  fare  out  of  my  own  pocket  if  I 
had  had  it  in  my  pocket ;  but,  that  not  being  feasible,  the  only 
thing  for  them  was  to  hide  and  to  keep  hiding :  although  I  did 
not  sc^  how  it  would  be  possible  for  the  two  wanderers  to  be 
hidden  long,  as  people  would  be  entering  and  passing  through 
the  car,  in  addition  to  the  vigilance  of  the  conductor. 

For  a  while,  though,  accident  favored  the  fugitives.  Only 
two  or  three  passengers  entered  the  car ;  and  they  seated  them- 
selves at  the  rear  of  the   car,  while   I  and  my  party  were 


LEO  AND  HEAD.  48 

near  the  front  entrance.  And,  when  the  conductor  made  hia 
first  appearance,  my  two  pirates,  being  warned  by  me,  kept  os 
still  as  death,  and  condensed  themselves  into  the  smallest  pos- 
sible space  that  I  guess  two  buccaneers  were  ever  compressed 
into.  So  all  passed  serenely,  and  I  began  to  hope  that  all 
would  so  continue. 

As  for  my  pair  of  criminals,  now  that  they  were  really  started 
on  their  wild  career,  really  stealing,  —  stealing  a  ride,  —  their 
spirits  rose,  although  their  bodies  couldn't;  and  they  exchanged 
kicks  of  congratulation,  and  pinches  of  sympathy,  —  about  their 
only  methods  of  commi.nication.  They  even  began  to  exchange 
ideas  with  eiich  other  and  with  me  by  whispers;  but  I  was  fear- 
ful they  would  be  overheard,  and  enjoined  strict  silence. 

One  of  my  ruffians,  the  elder  one,  was  of  a  rathe]"  phlegmatic 
temperament  for  a  pirate,  and  could  have  kept  still  for  an 
indefinite  period :  but,  unfortunately,  his  legs  were  very  long 
for  his  body ;  and,  getting  cramped  every  now  and  then,  one 
or  other  of  his  limbs  would  protrude  beyond  the  line  of  seats, 
whereupon  the  owner  of  the  protruding  limb  would  be  severely 
reprimanded  by  me,  while  his  fellow-pirate  would  warn  him 
against  similar  future  indiscretions  by  sundry  kicks  (not  of 
congratul  lion)  and  pinches  (not  of  sympathy),  and  would 
curse  him  for  an  awkward  lubber  and  a  daddy  longlegs.  The 
younger  pirate,  however,  though  he  did  not  transgress  with  his 
leg,  was  of  a  nervous,  restless  temperament,  and  was  all  the 
time  desirous  of  bobbing  up  with  his  head.  Now,  a  head  ex- 
tending above  a  seat  supposed  to  be  unoccupied  was  as  likely 
to  attract  attention  as  a  leg  extending  under  it ;  so  I  was  con- 
stantly obliged  to  call  the  restless  little  rascal  to  task,  much  to 
the  delight  of  his  more  quiet,  though  longer-le^^ged,  companion. 

In  fact,  what  witli  the  two,  the  leg  of  the  one  and  the  head 
of  the  other,  I  was  kept  in  a  state  of  constant  nervous  anxiety, 
in  the  midst  of  which  my  cares  were  brought  to  a  climax  by 


44  "CONDENSING  A   PIRATE." 

the  entrance,  at  a  way-station,  of  a  fat  woman,  who  coolly  and 
calmly  seated  herself  right  on  the  seat  behind  me,  and  directly 
over  —  on  top  of,  in  fact  —  the  younger  of  the  wild  adven- 
turers. 

Here  was  a  situation  for  me,  and  for  1dm,  I  fairly  perspired 
with  perplexity,  which,  of  course,  I  was  compelled  to  conceal. 
What  to  do  I  could  not  guess,  but  that  fat  woman  must  be 
removed  at  all  hazards.  But  how?  This  was  the  question  I 
asked  myself  in  despair.  I  opened  the  window  facing  my  seat. 
The  fat  woman  seemed  rather  to  like  the  fresh  air.  I  closed 
the  window  quickly,  with  a  bang ;  but,  after  looking  at  me  with 
mingled  cuiiosity  and  adipose  amiability,  she  subsided  into  her 
seat,  content.  Suddenly  she  moved  slightly:  something  seemed 
to  trouble  her  feet.  I  could  readily  guess  what  it  was.  The 
restless  young  pirate  underneath,  feeling  himself  cramped,  had 
stirred  slightly,  and  disturbed  her.  Oh,  if  she  should  take  it 
into  her  fat  head  to  investigate  the  cause  of  the  disturbance ! 
I  was  on  nettles.  But  she  was  too  fat  and  too  lazy.  She  didn't 
investigate,  and  the  pirates  were  saved. 

For  just  then  she  did  for  herself  what  we  never  could  have 
done  with  her,  —  she  moved  her  seat.  Looking  back,  she  rec- 
ognized one  of  the  persons  in  ihe  rear  of  the  car,  and  got  up, 
and  joined  her  friend.  I  felt,  for  all  the  world,  like  a  criminal 
who  had  received  a  respite.  But  then  the  conductor  came 
along  once  more ;  and  there  was  more  agony  of  anxiety,  more 
cramping  and  condensing  of  pirate  and  small  boy,  till  the 
man  of  tickets  passed  on,  and  there  was  another  breathing- 
spell. 

Before  a  great  while  my  amateur  rascals  had  become  thor- 
oughly disgusted  with  this  style  of  rascality.  They  had  not 
calculated  on  it.  Pistols  and  clasp-knives  were  here  of  no 
avail,  and  I  would  not  permit  them  to  touch  the  whiskey  they 
had  brought  with  them.     I  was  firm  in  my  temperance  princi- 


AN  IDEA.  45 

pies  still,  and  threatened,  if  they  dmnk  a  drop,  to  ahandon  them, 
—  a  dire  threat,  which  made  my  pirates  shudder. 

Still,  it  was  an  adventure  after  all ;  and  they  were  getting 
nearer  to  Boston  every  minute. 

But,  at  the  next  station,  the  doom  of  my  buccaneers  seemed 
sealed.  A  gentleman  and  a  lady,  evidently  husband  and  wife, 
middle-aged  and  well  to  do,  entered  the  car,  and  seated  them- 
selves right  behind  me,  right  over  one  of  my  stowaways.  They 
hrought  plenty  of  traps  and  wraps  with  them,  some  of  which 
they  disposed  of  in  the  rack  above  them,  the  balance  of  which 
they  laid  upon  the  seat  directly  behind  them,  which  was  then 
unoccupied.  Then  they  threw  themselves  back  upon  their 
seat  with  the  air  of  people  who  had  come  to  stay,  —  or  rather, 
under  the  circumstances,  to  go,  —  and  to  go  all  the  way  to 
Boston  probably.  Two  of  them,  and  one  of  them  a  man. 
There  was    o  sort  of  help  for  my  pirates  now. 

And,  to  cap  the  climax,  in  a  little  while  a  new  batch  of  pas- 
sengers came  in :  and,  the  seat  behind  being  in  demand,  the 
middle-aged  gentleman,  who  had  put  some  of  his  things  on  it, 
now  began  to  remove  them,  with  the  idea  of  putting  them 
under  his  own  seat ;  but  one  of  my  pirates  was  under  the  seat 
at  that  identical  moment :  and,  as  I  knew  enough  about  natural 
philosophy  to  know  that  two  things  cannot  occupy  the  same 
place  at  the  same  time,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  "the  game 
was  up." 

Then,  in  my  desperation,  an  idea  seized  me,  —  an  idea  that 
was  really  bold  and  clever,  if  I  say  it  myself.  I  resolved  to 
grasp  the  situation,  and  turn  it  to  my  own  purposes,  to  aid  fate 
in  bringing  about  a  d^noHment,  but  to  change  the  dSnoument 
into  such  a  one  as  I  wanted.  I  resolved  to  confess  all  in  ad- 
vance,—  the  confession  couldn't  be  more  than  a  minute  "in 
advance"  of  discovery  anyway  now,  —  and  to  throw  myself, 
that  is  to  say,  my  fugitives,  upon  the  mercy  of  the  gentleman 


46  FICTION  MINGLED    WITU  FACT. 

and  his  wife,  —  perhaps  the  other  passenpfers  in  the  car,  but  the 
middle-aged  gentleman  and  his  wife  particularly. 

These  two  looked  like  kind-hearted  people :  the  lady,  espe- 
cially, had  gentle  eyes.  I  felt  sure,  with  a  boy's  instinct,  that 
I  could  appeal  to  her  sympathy  ;  but  the  same  instinct  told  me 
that  there  would  be  little  if  any  sympathy  in  their  orthodox 
and  well-regulated  souls  for  two  scamps,  like  my  two  juvenile 
pirates,  running  away  from  home,  to  make  real  fools  and  would- 
be  rogues  of  themselves  in  a  strange  city.  No :  I  would  have 
to  mingle  a  considerable  amount  of  fiction  with  the  facts  of  my 
confession.     I  saw  that  at  once,  and  I  had  my  story  ready. 

"Please,  ma'am."  I  said,  turning  round  to  the  middle-aged 
lady,  —  who  was  receiving  some  of  their  traps  from  her  hus- 
band's hand,  preparatory  to  arranging  them  under  the  seat,  — 
and  touching  her  with  my  hand  on  her  arm. 

The  lady  turned  to  me,  and  said  kindl}^  "  Well,  please  ivhat^ 
my  little  boy  ?  " 

" Her  voice  was  soft  and  low."  Sliakspeare  sa}^,  that  " is 
an  excellent  thing  in  woman;"  and  it  confirmed  the  impres- 
sion of  her  gentle  eyes.  I  took  courage,  and  said,  "Please, 
ma'am,  don't  put  your  things  under  there,"  pointing  under  the 
seat. 

The  lady  was  evidently  surprised,  and  no  wonder,  at*  my 
request,  as  was  her  husband.  "  What's  that  you  say,  my  boy?" 
asked  the  latter ;  and  his  voice  Avas  cheery  and  kindly,  though 
manly.  He  had  only  spoken  six  words  to  me  in  his  life ;  and 
yet  my  boy's  heart  warmed  towards  him,  as  a  good,  fatherly 
sort  of  a  man,  —  the  kind  of  man  boys  like. 

I  repeated  my  request,  and  accompanied  it  by  its  explana- 
tion, which  was  the  simple  truth.  "Please,  ma'am,"  I  said, 
"don't  put  your  things  down  there j  because  there  is  a  boy 
down  there  already." 

The  worthy  couple  gave  a  start.    "  A  boy ! "  ejaculated  the 


"Please.  ,„a'a,n,'  r  said,  •  ,hm't. 
there  8  a  Loydovvu  there  already  •'•'[;;4«j 


•'■  P»t  your  things  down  there;  because 


A   STORY. 


47 


gentleman.    « A  little  boy  under  my  seat  all  this  time!"  said 
the  lady. 

^  "Yes,  ma'am,"  I  continued;  "and  there  is  another  little  boy 
right  under  my  seat,  right  in  front  of  your  feet." 

"Two  boys:  this  is  wonderful !"  said  the  gentleman.     But 
the  lady  with  the  gentle  eyes  and  the  soft,  low  voice  only  said 
"Poor  little  fellows!"  .  ' 

Naturally,  the  lady  and  gentleman  were  going  to  step  out  of 
their  seats,  and  to  stoop  down  under  them,  to  look  at  the  two 
boys;  but  I  begged  them  not  to  do  so,  as  their  doing  so  would 
of  course,  attract  general  attention  among  the  other  passengers! 
So  far  no  one  had  observed  this  little  scene.    The  word, 
spoken,  both  on  my  side  and  on  theirs,  had  been  uttered  in  a 
low  tone.     And  the  lady  and  gentleman  at  once,  at  my  request 
refrained  from  yielding  to  their  natural  impulse  of  looking  for 
the  stowaways,  and  bringing  them  out,  but  instead  looked  to 
me,  as  if  demanding  from  me  a  full  explanation  of  the  strange 
episode. 

I  gave  them  an  explanation,  -  and  such  an  explanation !  It 
did  credit  to  my  inventive  powers.  I  made  up,  on  the  spot, 
at  a  mmute's  notice,  a  story  "out  of  whole  cloth,"  which  was 
]ust  the  kind  of  story  to  enlist  my  hearers'  sympathies. 

According  to  my  account,  the  two  stowaways,  instead  of 
bemg  bloody-minded  pirates,  were  the  gentlest  and  the  best  of 
juvenile  creations,  and,  instead  of  having  fathers  and  mothers 
from  whom  they  had  run  away   had  been  left  orphans  at  an 
early  age,  and  had  been  consigneu  ,0  perfect  brutes  of  an  uncle 
and  aunt,  who  treated  them  cruelly,  beating  them,  and  refusing 
them  to  be  allowed  the  privileges  of  schooling,  keeping  them 
even  from  attending  Sunday  school, -an  institution  to  which, 
accordmg  to  my  version,  my  bold  Boston  buccaneers  had  ever 
been  devotedly  attached. 
This  account  completely  won  over  the  lady.    The  idea  of 


48  "HE  DIDN'T  REALLY  SEE   WUY," 

two  godd  boys  running  away  from  tlieir  relatives  because  they 
were  nut  allowed  to  go  to  Sunday  sehaul  was  clocidedly  origi- 
nal, and  from  its  very  novelty  was  entitled  to  favor.  And  by 
judiciously  describing  the  imaginary  uncle  of  these  two  lamb- 
like little  brothers  as  just  the  very  opposite  of  the  middle-aged 
gentleman  himself,  and  inferring  flatteringly  though  delicately 
in  my  narrative  that  I  fully  recognized  the  difference  between 
the  two  men,  I  won  over  the  middle-aged  gentleman  as  well 
as  his  wife. 

Had  they  only  guessed  that  their  supposed  innocent,  lamb- 
like, Sunday-school-loving  fugitives  carried  about  with  them  at 
that  precise  moment  whiskey-flasks,  cards,  and  tobacco,  and 
were  going  to  Boston  with  an  eye  to  burglary  —  Ah  I  it  is  well 
that  we  do  not  all  of  us  always  know  every  thing. 

By  my  highly  imaginative  riarrative  I  completely  enlisted 
the  sympathies  of  my  two  hearers,  and  impressed  them  warmly 
in  favor  of  the  stowaways.  They  would  at  once  have  changed 
their  seat,  so  as  to  give  the  "  dear,  good  little  boys  "  more  room ; 
but  I  represented  to  them,  that,  by  so  doing,  they  would  increase 
the  difficulties  and  risks  of  the  fugitives,  as  the  seat  could  not 
be  retained,  and  might  at  any  moment  bo  occupied  by  new,  and 
possibly  unfriendly,  parties,  —  parties  to  whom  I  would  have 
to  retell  my  yarn,  and  who  possibly  might  not  believe  it. 

The  lady  also  at  first  proposed  to  get  the  boj's  out,  and  to 
pay  their  fare  for  them  in  the  regular  way ;  that  is,  to  have 
her  husband  do  so.  But  the  middle-aged  gentleman  did  not  see 
it  in  this  light.  Men  seldom  do  "  see  "  the  paying  money  out 
for  other  men's  boys  as  forcibly  and  as  favorably  as  their  wives, 
sisters,  daughters,  or  sweethearts  see  it.  No :  the  middle-aged 
gentleman  didn't  really  see  why  he  and  his  wife  should  inter- 
fere at  all.  He  wished  the  boys  well ;  he  certainly  would  not 
betray  them  to  the  conductor;  he  would  do  all  he  could  to 
shield  them  from  observation  and  detection ;  but,  as  for  paying 


THE  "HOLD,  BAD  BOY"   AND  "SUNDAY  SCiroOL."     49 

llioir  passage,  that  was  another  matter.  All  that  ho  could  bo 
iiuluced  to  promise,  was  to  give  the  good  little  boya  a  little 
money  when  they  parted  at  the  end  of  the  trip,  and  to  "  make 
it  all  right  with  the  conductor  "  if  that  oflicial  pounced  on  the 
fugitives  before  they  reached  Iloston. 

Ihit  he  did  not  pounce  upon  them.  Thanks  to  the  consider- 
ate care  of  the  lady  with  the  gentle  eyes,  who  never  left  her 
scat  all  the  trip  through,  though  she  sat  very  uncomfortably, 
trying  to  make  as  much  room  as  possible  for  the  stowaways; 
and  thanks  to  the  interest  taken  in  the  fugitives  by  the  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  who  got  the  good  little  boys  some  rofreshiuents 
at  one  of  the  Avay-stations,  and  contrived  to  feed  them  on 
apples  and  sandwiches  surreptitiously,  —  the  disguised  pirates 
and  bogus  buccaneers  managed  to  reach  the  Boston  depot, 
almost  bent  double  with  being  cramped,  and  worn  out  with 
being  jolted,  but  safe  and  sound. 

Reaching  the  depot,  the  kind-hearted  lady  and  gentleman 
lingered  in  their  car  for  some  time,  so  as  to  give  the  stowa- 
ways a  chance  to  creep  out  from  their  concealment  unobserved. 
The  lady,  of  course,  was  curious  to  see  the  "good  little  boys," 
and  took  an  especial  fancy  to  the  3'ounger  one,  who  was  decid- 
edly the  worst  boy  of  the  two.  She  said  a  few  kind  words  to 
him,  and  asked  him  a  few  questions.  During  this  talk  I  stood 
by  very  nervous ;  for  I  was  afraid  that  something  my  young 
rascal  might  say  might  betray  him,  and  show  up  the  falsity  of 
my  story. 

I  was  specially  afraid  lest  the  lady  should  ask  my  juvenile 
pirate  any  question  about  the  Sunday  school,  which  I  had  made 
him  love  so  dearly.  Now,  if  there  was  any  one  place  which 
this  particular  "bold,  bad  boy"  hated  worse  than  he  did 
another,  it  was  a  Sunday  school ;  and  his  amount  of  religious 
knowledge  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  I  once  had  over- 
heard him  telling  another  boy  how  "some  traitor  called  Judas 


60  THE  PIIiATES  ItEACn  BOSTOX. 

Scnreit  had  gone  buck  on  another  person  called  Abraham,  and 
sold  him  to  a  leader,  callccl  Jidius  Ciesur,  for  thirty  dollars." 
This  being  so,  you  can  readily  imagine  how  I  dreaded  any 
"catechizing"  now.  IJut,  luckily,  time  was  pressing;  and  so, 
liaving  kissed  the  two  monsters  of  youthful  depravity,  whon> 
she  took  to  be  such  dear,  good  little  boys,  the  lady  with  the 
gentle  eyes  departed  with  her  husband,  who,  ere  his  dejiarture, 
gave  three  boys  each  fifty  cents  apiece,  —  a  gift  which,  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  we  valued  more  than  the  kiss  or  the  kinil 
words. 

The  first  thing  my  two  .  ites  did  on  reaching  Boston  and 
freedom  was  to  swear,  —  swear  like  troopers.  The  next  thing 
they  did  was  to  drink  —  drink  like  fishes  —  from  their  j)Ocket- 
pistols ;  then  they  took  a  "  chaw  of  tobaccy  "  apiece  ;  and  then 
we  all  three  stalked  into  the  nearest  eating-house,  and  ate  the 
greater  [)art  of  our  fifty  cents  uj),  like  famished  v.colves. 

I  began  to  be  myself  infected  by  the  spirit  of  ••  adventure :  " 
and  I  would  willingly  have  lingered  longer  with  my  incipient 
cut-throats,  though  we  did  not  have  seventy  cents  among  us ; 
but  I  expected  a  party  from  the  "  House  of  the  Angol  Guard- 
ian "  to  meet  me  at  the  depot,  and  came  across  him  as  I  left 
the  eating-house  with  my  companions.  I  was  forthwith  taken 
in  charge  of;  and  bidding  my  prospective  ruffians,  ex-charges, 
and  former  companions,  "good-by,"  never  saw  them  again,  and 
commenced  a  new  phase  of  my  checkered  life  at  the  "  House 
of  the  Angel  Guardian." 

I  have  been  minute  in  the  detail  of  my  boy-life,  and  in  the 
statement  of  my  juvenile  adventures  hitherto,  for  two  reasons: 
First,  the  boy  is  tbe  beginning  of  tlie  man ;  and,  to  understand 
and  appreciate  the  man,  you  must  first  "  get  at "  the  boy.  If 
my  readers  are  to  be,  as  I  trust  they  will  be,  interested  in  the 
man  Thomas  N.  Dontney,  they  must  first  be  introduced  to, 
and  become  well  acquainted  with,  the  lad  Tom  Doutney. 


DEMOnALlZlXG  JUVENILE  LITERATURE.  61 

Second,  I  have  been  led  to  bo  iniiiuto  in  my  iletiiilH  of  boy- 
lifo  because  I  fiml  that  these  details  have  previously  been  too 
much  neglected  by  previous  writers.  Thus,  while  there  have 
been  any  number  of  books  devoted  to  the  evils  of  intemperance, 
in  scarcely  any  of  these  books  is  reference  made  to  the  f(»rmiiig 
of  intemperate  habits  in  early  boyhood ;  and  yet  in  n  hirgo  per- 
eontagc  of  cases,  as  in  mine,  the  men  became  drunkards  when 
they  wore  boys. 

As  has  been  already  shown,  I  became  a  drunkard  when 
"only  a  boy."  I  formed  the  bad  habits,  which  eursed  mo  as  a 
man,  when  "  only  a  boy."  For  good  or  for  evil  I  cannot  too 
strongly  insist  upon  the  truth  of  the  saying  I  have  already 
quoted,  -'The  boy  is  the  father  of  the  man." 

And  this  applies,  not  only  to  int(  mpcrance,  but  other  evils,  — 
to  the  love  of  sensational  and  demoralizing  literature,  for 
example.  The  instances  of  my  two  bold  Boston  buccaneers 
are  cases  in  point.  True,  these  two  young  rascals  were  dis- 
covered by  the  Boston  police  before  they  had  opportunity  to 
commit  any  overt  breach  of  the  peace,  or  break  the  laws  of 
the  land  and  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  were  sent  back  to 
their  homes.  But  the  poison  of  "  dime  novel  "-istn  had  done  its 
work  :  and  to-da)'  both  of  those  boys  are  social  outlaws,  —  pro- 
fessional criminals ;  and  their  cases  are  but  two  out  of  two 
thousand. 

^Vhile  on  this  point,  —  the  pernicious  effect  of  sensational 
literature  on  the  young,  —  I  would  call  attention  to  the  sub- 
joined article  on  this  subject,  published  in  the  bright  and  newsy 
"New-York  Morning  Journal"  of  Feb.  9,  1883:  — 


62  MISSING   CIIILLBEN. 


MISSING   CHILDREN. 

THE  PERXICI0U8  EFFECT  OF  8KNSATI0NA1,  FICTION  UPON  SCnor.AnS. — 
IN3TANCKS  OF  SEVKHAL  8UI)I)EN  DISAITEAUANCES  OF  CHILDJJEN  FUOM 
MOTIVES  OF   EXCITEMENT. — OFFICIAL  INTEHVIEWa   UPON  THE  SUI1.)ECT. 

The  epidemic  of  suclclcn  disappcaiancos  developed  early  last  fall, 
aud  at  first  confined  to  bank-cashiers  and  municipal  defaulters,  has 
now  broken  out  among  children.  Scarcely  a  week  passes  but  that 
some  distracted  parent  reports  her  petted,  golden-haired  child  to  be 
missing.  In  some  cases  the  little  one  remains  away  days,  —  nay, 
even  weeks ;  in  others  the  absence  is  merely  transient,  lasting  not 
longer  tlian  a  few  hours. 

Witli  the  object  of  tracing  this  peculiar  phase  of  New- York  life, 
a  "Morning-Journal"  reporter  has  investigated  a  number  of  cases 
of  missing  children. 

On  Thursday  last  Dr.  A.  Kettembeil,  residing  at  One  Hundred 
and  Sixty-first  Street,  reported  at  half-past  se\  o'clock  at  the 
Thirty-third  Precinct  Stntion,  that  his  little  da  <ghter  Mary,  aged 
eleven  years,  was  missing.  Tiie  child  was  supposed  to  have  been 
accompanied  by  a  schoolfellow  of  the  same  age.  Maggie  O'Rourke 
by  name. 

Maggie  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  O'Rourke,  employed  at  Ebling's 
brewery.  Both  children  had  attended  the  school  of  the  Catholic 
institution  on  One  Hundred  and  Sixty-third  Street,  and  had  been  to 
school  that  day. 

DR.    KETTEMREIL   INTERVIEWED. 

Yesterday  a  "Journal "  reporter  called  upon  the  doctor,  and  learpca 
that  the  missing  ones  had  been  found.  He  said,  "  She,  in  company 
witii  Maggie  O'Rourke,  who  has  run  away  from  home  half  a  dozen 
times,  had  walked  from  the  schoolhouse  to  a  friend's  horise  on 
Seventy-first  Street.  The  only  motive  I  can  find  out  from  question- 
ing her  was  the  wish  to  liave  a  good  time.  She  is  usually  an  obedient 
little  girl,  and  I  have  no  doubt  was  persuaded  by  her  compauiou." 


JUVENILE  VAGRANTS.  68 

"Have  you  any  theory  for  these  disappearances,  doctor?  " 

"  No,  beyond  a  desire   for  change.     Slie  had  visited  my  fi-iend 

before,  who  naturally  supposed  we  knew  where  the  child  was." 
The  O'ltourke  family,  upon  being  questioned,  were  very  reticent, 

and  declined  to  have  any  thing  to  say,  beyond  the  fact  that  tiie  girl 

had  been  found. 

A  police-sergeant's  experience. 

Acting-sergeant  Dennerlaiu,  upon  being  asked  whether  the  aljsences 
of  children  were  frequent,  replied,  "Yes:  we  are  continually  asked 
by  frightened  parents  to  discover  their  lost  children  ;  but,  as  a  rule, 
they  do  not  stay  away  longer  than  a  few  hours  at  a  time.  "We 
recently  had  a  case  of  two  boys  disappearing  for  three  weeks. 
They  were  thirteen  and  flfteeu  years  of  age  respectively.  They  had 
saved  up  their  pocket-money,  and  wanted  to  '  see  life  '  as  described 
in  the  dime-novel  order  of  literature.  Two  dollars,  I  think,  comprised 
their  stock  of  money  ;  and  liually  they  were  discovered  by  the  police 
in  Jersey  City. 

"Another  case  within  my  recollection  was  that  of  a  young  girl  of 
seventeen,  who  staid  away  tliree  days,  and  has  ever  since  refused  to 
give  an  account  of  where  she  had  been,  beyond  saying  that  '  she  hud 
been  staying  with  some  friends.'  Her  parents  are  most  respectable 
people,  and  that  is  why  I  would  not  care  to  mention  their  names." 

OTHER   INSTANCES. 

Mrs.  Gordon,  laundress,  1011  Third  4 venue,  has  also  experienced 
repeated  anxiety  from  the  same  s^uuse.  In  this  instance  a  bright  boy, 
fourteen  years  of  age,  has  frequently  disappeared  from  home,  through 
the  fascinating  experiences  of  pernicious  literature.  A  few  days 
after  Christmas,  in  company  with  a  companion  named  Morgan,  they 
started  for  the  Far  West,  upon  a  capital  of  a  dollar  and  forty-five 
cents.  As  soon  as  the  novelty  of  adventure  began  to  pail  upon 
their  youthful  minds,  the  twain  were  arrested  in  Newark  for  vagrancy, 
and  sent  home. 

John  Splelenhoffer,  baker,  of  East  Eighty-second  Street,  has  the 


64  DEFECTIVE  HOME-TRAINING. 

misfortune  to  be  the  parent  of  tbree  children,  two  girla  and  a  boy, 
whoso  ages  vary  from  twelve  to  fifteen,  and  who  seem  to  have  a 
chronic  disposition  for  running  away.  The  father  is  a  widower,  and 
consequently  often  away  from  home.  The  children,  it  seems,  have 
formed  a  gang  of  amateur  "  bandits,"  whose  sanguinary  raids  are 
frequently  prolonged  for  twenty-four  hours  at  a  time,  causing  endless 
anxiety  and  consternation  to  their  relatives. 

DETECTIVE   PINKERTON's    OI'INIONS. 

Mr.  Robert  Pinkerton,  in  discussing  the  subject  of  missing  chil- 
dren with  the  writer,  said,  "We  used  to  have  frequent  inquirito  of 
this  kind,  but  latterly  we  have  had  no  cases  of  the  nature  you  refer 
to.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  cause  is  mainly  due  to  the  craze  for 
excitement  produced  by  morbid  tales  of  adventure.  No,  I  do  not 
think  there  is  any  deliberately  immoral  ol)ject  in  view,  nor  do  I 
believe  tiuit  professional  abductors  of  children  ply  their  trade  very 
successfully  in  this  city.  Usually  the  cause  will  be  found  to  be 
purely  local,  due  in  most  instances  to  defective  home-training,  and 
being  allowed  to  run  the  streets." 

MR.    JULIUS    BUNNER   SPEAKS. 

This  gentleman  is  a  member  of  the  board  of  education.  His 
district  comprises  Wards  Nos.  One  to  Plight  (excepting  No.  Seven). 
"  I  tiiink  the  teachers  in  our  city  seliools  throw  as  great  a  safeguard 
over  tiieir  pujMls  as  it  is  possible  for  them  to  do.  From  my  own  obser- 
vation I  can  safely  say,  that  I  have  found  the  schools  during  hours  to 
be  securely  locked,  and  no  children  are  allowed  to  leave  during  those 
hours.  I  have  also  frequently  seen  policemen  stationed  outside  when 
the  hours  of  study  expire. 

"My  own  opinion  is,  that  disappearances  are  largely  owing  to 
pernicious  literature,  for  the  perusal  of  which  parents  are  as  much 
to  blame  as  children.  I  really  think  that  the  subject  should  n^ceivo 
the  attention  of  our  legislature." 


A    WOMAN'S  PEOTEST.  55 

A  protest  against  "  sensational  literature  "  for  the  young  — 
a  protest  tar  stronger  than  any  of  the  points  stated  in  the  arti- 
cle just  quoted — has  recently  appeared,  under  the  signature 
of  a  woman,  —  Mrs.  Louis  T.  Lull. 

Mrs.  Lull  was  the  wife  of  a  man  who  had  attained  considera- 
ble eminence  as  a  member  of  the  detective  police  in  the  West. 
He  was  quick,  keen, honest,  determined,  brave;  and,  in  .ue  dis- 
charge of  his  duties,  he  attempted  the  arrest  of  the  notorious 
outlaws,  the  James  brothers,  who  had  made  the  South-West 
the  scene  of  their  robberies  and  murders. 

In  this  attempt,  for  which  he  deserved  honorable  recognition, 
he  received  wounds  which  proved  to  be  ultimately  fatal.  He 
died,  therefore,  literally  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  had  a  claim 
upon  the  respect  and  sympathy  of  the  community.  But,  instead 
of  receiving  his  poor  aieed  of  praise,  the  dying  detective  was 
held  up  to  popular  '-scorn"  in  "popular  literature." 

Stories  and  plays  were  written  about  the  bandits,  in  which 
they  wore  the  heroes  and  the  detectives  were  the  fools,  the 
clowns,  as  it  were,  the  materials  to  furnish  the  laughter,  by 
being  constantly  held  up  to  ridicule  as  the  dupes  or  victims  of 
the  outlaws.  The  robbers  and  the  murderers  were  depicted  as 
gallant,  brave,  aspiring  men,  to  be  imitated ;  while  the  honest, 
energetic  upholders  of  law  and  order,  the  officers  of  justice, 
were  held  up  to  execration  or  contempt,  men  to  be  hated  in 
real  life,  and  despised  in  print,  or  on  the  stage. 

Burning  with  a  sense  of  this  outrage,  —  a  sense  all  the 
warmer  because  her  own  husband  was  one  of  the  examples  of 
this  outrage,  —  Mrs.  Lull  wrote  from  her  o'er-fraught  heart,  with 
all  the  eloquence  of  righteous  wrath,  a  letter  to  "The  New- 
York  Herald,"  which  I  here  reprint,  as  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind, 
as  a  bitter  protest  against  the  sensational  juvenile  li*-.erature  of 
the  day,  —  not  of  a  past  day,  bear  in  mind,  but  of  the  present 
day,  1883. 


56  BORDER-RUFFIAN  DRAMAS. 

True,  the  letter  alludes  chiefly  to  "sensation  dramas"  for 
boys  and  for  young  men  ;  but  its  words  are  equally  applicable 
to  sensation  stories  and  "  dime  novels  "  generally. 

And  in  the  particular  instance  to  which  the  lady  particularly 
alludes,  —  the  career  of  Jesse  James,  —  this  has  been  the  theme 
of  many  "  books  "  as  well  as  "  dramas :  "  and  "  book  "  and 
"  drama "  alike  make  the  outlaw,  the  ruffian,  the  murderer, 
their  hero ;  while  they  have  only  scorn  and  laughter  for  the 
faithful  officers  of  the  law,  who  risked  their  lives  —  and  lost 
them  —  in  their  line  of  duty. 

I  here  quote,  verbatim  et  literatim,  the  letter  in  "  The  New- 
York  Herald"  of  Feb.  10,  1883,  to  which  allusion  has  been 
made :  — 

BORDER  RUFFIAN  DRAMAS. 

TUE    WIDOAV    OF    A    MUItDERED    OFFICER    ASKS    WHO    WAS    THil    HERO,    THE 
OUTLAW  OB  THE  DETECTIVE? — DEBASING  PLAYS. 

Nsw  York,  Feb.  9,  1883. 
To  the  Editor  of  the  "  Herald." 

Most  people  will  recall  the  particulars  of  the  Gadshill  roblK'ry,  and 
the  crimes  which  preceded  and  followed  its  ending  in  the  tragic  events 
which  finally  destroyed  that  murderous  band  of  outlaws  of  which  the 
James  brothers  and  the  Younger  brothers  were  the  chief  miscreants. 
Tliey  will  recall  the  fact,  that  these  desperadoes,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and  prepared  alike  for  plunder  or  for  human  butchery,  became  a 
terror  to  peaceable  and  orderly  people  living  in  considerable  sections 
of  two  great  States,  and  how  they  committed  crime  after  crime,  and 
broke  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  until  every  honest  hand  was  against 
them,  and  the  outcry  was  loud  and  deep  that  such  brutality  should  not 
go  unpunished.  They  will  remember  how  at  last  the  bravest  and 
best  officers  of  the  detective  force  of  the  country  —  incorruptible 
men,  with  brain  and  nerve  r.nd  energy  —  were  chosen  to  face  these 
banded  outcasts,  and  bring  them  to  justice.  And  they  will  remember 
how  these  officers  grappled  with  the  pi-.^ctiscd  ruffians,  and  at  last 
fought  them  dowu,  though  succeeding  in  their  object  only  after  giv- 


A   "REAL  nEIiO."  67 

ing  their  blood,  and  too  ofteu  their  lives,  to  aid  in  holding  up  the 
hands  of  justice.  But  perhaps  the  people  of  your  city  were  not 
prepared  to  find  that  the  cruel,  boastful,  blood-stained  l)andits  of  yes- 
terday have  l)ecome  the  godlike  beroes  of  to-day ;  that  these  men, 
whose  heart-siokening  crimes  brought  death  and  destruction  to  happy 
homes,  are  now  represented  upon  the  dramatic  stage  as  brandishing 
their  weapons,  making  famous  rides,  and  again  committing  their 
infamous  crimes  to  loud  applause.  But  so  it  is  ;  and  the  young  men 
and  women  who  are  now  witnessing  and  approving,  in  the  name  of 
romance,  of  these  dark  and  cruel  deeds  of  blood,  are  planting  seed 
which  will,  sooner  or  later,  ripen  into  bitter  fruit.  These  are  fearful 
heroes  whom  they  worship. 

And  what  of  the  real  heroes?  What  of  the  men  who  sacrificed 
their  lives  for  duty's  sake?  Bandied  about  the  stage,  cast  into  con- 
tempt, caused  to  be  foolishly  deceived,  handcuffed  by  the  "  bandit 
kings,"  and  laughed  at  by  the  people  in  whose  name  and  for  whose 
cause  they  died. 

I  have  not  witnessed  the  horrible  play  that  thus  disgraces  your 
stage.  But  the  flaming  posters  which  I  fain  would  not  see,  but 
which  confront  me  at  every  step,  tell  only  too  ^^oll  of  the  awful 
crimes  which  your  people  encourage  nightly ;  and  from  one  and 
another  I  learn,  though  I  would  gladly  close  my  ears  to  all  of  it, 
about  the  memory  of  brave  men  outraged,  a  .d  their  deeds  despised. 
I  hear  of  James's  famous  ride  from  Kansas  City,  and  see  upon  the 
walls  the  pictures  of  "  the  detectives'  ride  to  death,"  —  a  death  made 
to  appear  senseless  and  ignominious. 

Let  me  tell  the  true  story  of  a  singlv-^  one  of  these  detectives'  rides 
to  death,  that  those  who  cheer  tales  of  crime  at  the  theatres  may 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  The  story  is  simple. 
In  1874  Capt.  Louif  J.  Lull,  late  of  the  Chicago  police  force,  was 
employed  by  Allen  Pinkcrton  to  take  charge  of  the  little  band  of 
brave  men  who  were  to  bring  these  ruflians  to  account.  It  was  after 
the  Gadshill  robbery ;  and  Capt.  Lull,  an  Eastern  man,  honest  of 
purpose,  of  high  character  and  indomitable  courage,  rode  out  upon 
a  pre-arranged  route  of  search,  having  St.  Clair  County,  Mo.,  as 


58  CAPT.   LULL  AND  JIM   YOUNGER. 

its  ol)joctive  point.  One  of  liia  associates,  Mr.  Vf.  J.  "Wliieher, 
took  a  road  loadiiijj;  to  the  bortlers  of  Clay  County  ;  and  tliey  were  to 
net  in  unison.  Capt.  Lull  was  accompanied  by  Mr.  Wrigiit  and  by 
Siieriff  IJanield  of  St.  Clair  County.  The  party  rode  into  the 
Mouogaw  woods,  near  Koscoe,  ]Mo.,  and  were  there  suddenly  sur- 
prised by  the  Younger  brothers,  who  were  also  mounted,  and  who 
instantly  covered  the  party  with  their  rifles.  The  terriljle  battle  com- 
menced at  once.  The  Youngcrs  called  upon  the  detectives  to  give 
up  their  weapons.  They  had  been  surprised  :  the  chances  were  all 
against  them,  and  they  dropped  the  navy  revolvers  which  were  in 
tlieir  belts.  A  fter  tliey  had  done  so,  John  Younger  tired,  and  shot 
Daniels  dead.  AVriglit  spurred  up  his  horse,  and  lied.  Capt.  Lull 
was  then  alone  with  these  outlaws.  He  had  surrendered ;  yet  he 
was  lired  upon,  and  his  bridle-arm  was  shattered  before  he  could 
strike  a  blow.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  extricating  a  small  Smith 
&  Wesson  revolver  from  an  inside  pocket,  —  he  had  dropped  his  navy 
revolver  in  response  to  the  call  to  surrender,  —  and  he  shot  and  killed 
John  Y'ounger.  Then  commenced  a  desperate  encounter  between 
Capt.  Lull  and  Jim  Younger.  Riding  furiously  side  by  side,  they 
.shot  at  each  other  again  and  again.  IJut  Capt.  Lull's  horse  was 
high-spirited  and  restless,  and  disarranged  his  rider's  aim.  Capt. 
L\ni  fell,  —  fell,  shot  tin-ee  times  by  a  murderous  hand  after  he  had 
surrendered.     Cai)t.  Lull  was  my  husband. 

Is  it  surprising  that  I  grow  restless  at  the  sight  of  these  flaming 
posters,  which  show  James,  the  hero  villain,  in  his  glorious  ride  from 
Kansas  City,  while  they  represent  with  contemptuous  pity  the  detec- 
tives' ride  to  death  ?  Is  it  not,  indeed,  an  outrage,  not  only  on  myself, 
but  upon  every  good  person  in  your  city,  that  these  walls  should  be 
placarded  with  such  pictures,  and  the  stage  given  over  to  teachings 
which  make  crime  godlike  and  heroism  infamous? 

My  husband  lingered  in  agony  at  Roscoe.  He  sent  for  me.  Two 
days  before  I  h(^ard  from  him,  I  read  in  a  newspaper,  while  on  a 
sick-bed  in  Chicago,  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Whicher,  who,  after  leav- 
ing his  valuables  in  the  hands  of  the  sheriff  of  Clay  County,  went 
to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Samuels,  mother  of  the  James  brothers,  where 


i  "  Hiilinj  furiously  siilo  li.v  sido,  tlicy  shot  at  eacli  otiicr  aRaiii  and  again" 

[  [p.  58]. 


now  A  GOOD  MAN  DIED.  69 

lio  was  tlip  samp  night  cnp  red,  atiai)p(Hl  to  the  back  of  a  horse,  and 
tiiki'ii  to  an  adjoining  county,  where  he  was  murdered  in  eolil  I)1o(kI. 
He,  too,  hiis  met  a  fate  hardly  worse  than  the  uuHanetilied  horror  of 
his  deatii  in  lieing  impersonated  and  held  up  nigiitly  upon  the  slago 
as  a  dishonored  man  ;  though  he  died  in  the  path  of  duty. 

I  hastened  to  Capt.  Lull,  hardly  knowing  what  to  helleve  of  his 
fate ;  for  I'inkerton's  agoney  in  Chicago  had  received  contradictory 
reports  of  the  tragedy  iu  tho  Monogaw  woods.  Ah  I  i)a88ed  the 
ofHce  of  Adams'  Express  Company  under  the  Planters'  House  in  St. 
Louis,  I  saw  a  sight  which  made  my  heart  sick  within  me.  It  was 
a  long,  plain  deal  l)OX,  directed  to  I'inkerton's  agency  at  Chicago. 
I  passed  some  dreadful  moments  in  the  street  before  I  dared  ask 
what  the  contents  were  of  this  rough  coHln.  It  contained  the  remains 
of  Mr.  AVhicher.  My  own  hero  was  perhaps  yet  alive.  With  un- 
speakable dread  I  hurried  forward  to  my  husband.     I  was  in  time. 

I  I  was  with  him  when  his  great  heart  broke.  I  saw  the  true  picture 
of  the  appalling  tragedy  of  the  Monogaw  woods,  and  now  I  call  upon 
every  mollier  and  sister  in  the  laud  to  frown  upon  the  liorrible  repre- 

(      seutation  placed  upon  the  stage  before  their  sous  and  their  brothers. 

MRS.   LOUIS  J.   LULL. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MT  COLLROTATE  CAUKEn.  —  DDKS  A  "  COLLEGE  EDUCATION"  EDUCATE  7 — 
A  LADY  OHADIATK. —  A  TYPICAL  IHISIIM  AN. —  A  QUESTION  Ol'  ICU-CUKAM 
AMD  INFLUENCE. —  THE  UASU-UATEU,   AND  WUY  UE  UATED  IT. 

Mv  life  at  the  "House  of  the  Angel  Guanlian"  was  com- 
paratively uneventful.  I  was  strictly  guarded  from  temptation, 
and  therefore  have  nothing  special  to  record  concerning  this 
period  of  my  life.  After  all,  looking  back  upon  our  lives,  do 
not  most  of  us  find,  that  what  at  the  time  seemed  the  "dull- 
est "  periods  of  our  careers,  were  generally  the  best,  the  safest, 
the  soundest,  the  most  sensible  ? 

From  the  "House  of  the  Angel  Guardian,"  I  was  sent,  by 
my  father  (after  a  little  experience  in  "  business-life,"  to  which 
I  shall  refer  more  at  length  in  the  next  chapter)?  to  "  Holy 
Cross  College  "  at  Worcester,  Mass. 

Of  course,  my  dear  father  thought  that  he  was  doing  the 
very  best  thing  he  could  possibly  do  for  me  in  thus  affording 
me  an  opportunity  for  a  collegiate  education ;  but  experience 
and  observation  have  combined  to  convince  me,  that  the  advan- 
tages of  a  so-called  "college  education "  are  in  this  country 
vastly  overrated,  not  because  education  in  itself  is  not  a  most 
blessed  thing,  —  next  to  morality,  religion,  and  health,  the  great- 
est of  all  blessings,  —  but  because  the  species  of  education 
taught  at  the  majority  of  colleges  and  ccUegiate  schools  is  of 
no  practical  value  in  the  great  battle  of  life. 

Education  for  the  mind  is  fully  as  valuable  and  essential  as 
clothing  to  the  body ;  but  the  education  should  be  adapted  to 

GO 


TRUE  AND  FALSE  EDUCATION.  61 

the  nature  nnd  prolmblo  iieotls  of  tho  Hcholar,  just  as  cUithiiig 
bIkiiiUI  l)»>  ailiiptftl  to  tlu)  cliiuiito  uiuler  which  tho  weaver  lives. 

How  ahsurd  it  woiihl  ho  to  present  tlio  ehihl  about  to  depart 
for  India,  nay,  with  thick  Ihinuels,  and  a  tremendously  heavy 
ulster  overcoat !  Yet  it  would  bo  really  not  one  wliit  more 
ridiculoua  than  to  take  a  child  wIjoso  parents  are  poor  or  luird- 
working  people,  dependent  upon  their  daily  labor  for  their  daily 
bread,  —  llie  child  who  must  soon  bo  himself  thrust  upon  the 
world,  to  battle  with  it  as  best  he  may,  —  and  teacli  this  child 
chiefly  the  "higher  niatheinatics,"  as  some  colleges  make  a 
specialty  of  doing,  or  tho  "dead"  or  "classic"  languages,  as 
other  colleges  make  a  feature  of. 

Can  an  average  boy,  even  if  ho  can  master  "  the  higher 
mathematics,"  make  a  living  by  or  on  them  ?  No.  Not  in  one 
case  in  ton  thousand  can  a  young  man,  even  if  lie  can  translate 
and  scan  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  secure  an  independence 
by  them.     No :  not  in  one  case  in  ten  thousand. 

In  the  vast  majority  of  instances,  not  only  is  the  course  of 
study,  the  curriculum,  of  our  collegiate  institutions,  of  such  a 
character  that  tho  great  majority  of  its  scholars  can  never 
hope  to  do  it  justice,  but  to  even  the  exceptional  few  who  can 
iuul  do,  by  patient  study  and  with  infinite  difTiculty,  master  it, 
it  proves  of  no  practical  avail.  It  amounts  to  but  a  realiza- 
tion of  the  old,  old  story  of  the  unfortunates  who  were  doomed 
to  pour  water  forever  into  buckets  that  had  no  bottom,  or 
of  those  wretches  who  were  forced  by  fate  to  roll  up  stones, 
only  to  see  the  stones  roll  down  again. 

Ninety  per  cent  of  the  men  who  succeed  in  life  have  never 
received  "a  college  education."  They  have  known  "little 
Littii'  and  less  Greek,"  and  nothing  whatever,  probably,  of 
"tlie  lut^'lior  mathematics."  But  they  have  known  how  to 
work,  duy  and  night ;  how  to  make  money,  and  how  —  a  still 
harder  task  —  to  save  it ;  how  to  labor,  "  in  season  and  out  of 


62  THE  FEMALE  ''GRADUATE:' 

season ; "  how  to  think  and  act  for  themselves ;  and  this  sort 
of  knowledge  is  not  taught  at  college. 

Of  course,  collegiate  learning  is  a  good  thing  —  a  very  good 
thing — in  combination  with  the  truly  "higher  education,"  which 
teaches  a  young  man  what  he  is  fit  for  in  this  world,  and  fits 
him  for  it.  With  this  it •  is  truly  admirable  and  desirable;  but 
without  this,  or  in  tl;e  place  of  this,  it  is  worthless,  —  worse 
than  wortldess  even,  —  positively  and  personally  injurious. 
The  same  remarks  apply,  in  a  modified  degree,  to  fashionable 
feminine  schools  and  education. 

A  smattering  of  French,  —  and,  generally,  such  a  smattering 
as  makes  a  Frenchman  smile  when  he  is  too  polite  to  laugh 
outright  or  sneer.  A  superficial  knowledge  of  science,  —  so 
superficial  that  a  real  scientist  would  be  unable  to  detect  it 
at  all,  save  as  one  sees  animalculre  in  a  drop  of  water  through 
a  microscope.  A  knowledge  of  history,  —  so  vague  and  uncer- 
tain as  to  confound  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  with  the 
Guy  Fawkes  Plot,  as  a  lady  "gradu.ate"  did  recently;  and  to 
locate  the  English  Reformation,  with  Cranmer  and  Kidley,  in 
Germany,  under  Charles  IX.  of  France,  an  historical  feat 
recently  achieved  by  a  young  girl  whose  "  diploma "  at  that 
moment  was  suspended  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  her  mother's 
parlor.  An  acquaintance  with  belles-lettres, — so  slight  as  to 
attribute  the  authorship  of  "Tristram  Shandy"  to  Disraeli, 
and  to  credit  Shakspeare  with  the  comedy  of  "  IMoney,"  —  as 
was  done  in  the  writer's  hearing  lately  by  a  3'oung  woman 
whose  education  was  regarded  as  "finished."  All  this  knowl- 
edge (?),  which  would  be  worth  but  little  in  itself  if  full  and 
accurate,  combined  with  utte'  and  confessed  ignorance  about 
housekeeping  matters  and  cookery, — two  matters  of  the  very 
utmost  practical  importance,  —  such  is  the  intellectual  "  tout 
ensemble"  of  the  average  female  graduate  of  the  period,  —  a 
creature  who  is  indeed  "  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made  "  up, 


v.->:- 


^:. 


-^r 


"  He  put  the  lads  wlio  annoyed  her  to  flight,  and  kept  guard  around  her 
stall"  [p.  63]. 


■'■%'.  -.■■■ 


THE  OLD   WOMAN  AND   YOUNG  IRISHMAN.  63 

without  the  slightest  regard  to  common  wear  and  tear,  or  com- 
mon sense. 

No  wonder,  in  such  a  condition  of  things,  that  the  French 
savant  who  visited  the  United  States  recently,  summed  up  his 
observations  in  the  now  famous  sentence  :  "  3Ion  Dieu  !  what  a 
people !  one  hundred  religions,  and  only  one  gravy  ! " 

Still,  I  learned  somethhig  —  and  something  even  u'^eful  —  at 
the  College  of  the  Holy  Cross.  At  any  rate,  I  for;ned  habits  of 
application,  and  systematic  employment  of  time,  which  kept 
me  out  of  mischief. 

I  also  formed  some  friendships  which  have  been  of  some 
practical  advantage  to  me  since.  Among  my  classmates  was 
a  young  Irish  gentleman  named  Martin,  of  the  best  blood 
of  Dublin.  This  Martin  was  a  character  who  would  have 
delighted  the  soul  of  Charles  Lever.  He  was  the  very  incar- 
nation of  the  typical  Irishman,  —  brave,  reckless  yet  shrewd, 
careless,  generous,  hot-tempered,  extravagant,  the  very  soul  of 
gallantry  and  joviality. 

I  remember  his  once  taking  the  part  of  an  old  apple-woman 
who  had  been  played  tricks  on  by  some  of  the  college-boys. 
Ihe  woman  was  a  grandmother,  ugly  as  "Meg  JNIerrilies," 
toothless,  almost  palsied.  Her  voice  was  cracked  with  age. 
She  was  surly,  —  most  decidedly  unjileasant.  All  that  could  be 
said  of  her  by  her  best  friend,  if  she  had  any,  —  which  she 
didn't,  —  would  have  been  that  she  was  old,  respectable,  and  a 
woman.  But  these  three  points,  especially  the  last,  sufficed  for 
the  young  Irishman. 

He  espoused  the  old  woman's  quarrel  with  all  the  ardor  of 
his  nature.  Had  he  been  her  son,  he  could  not  have  defended 
her  more  earnestly :  had  he  been  her  lover,  he  could  not  have 
been  more  tender  and  gentle  with  her.  He  put  the  lads  who 
annoyed  her  to  flight :  he  kept  guard  around  her  stall.  Nay, 
he  did  what  was  far  more  difficult  than  either :  he  absolutely 


64  THE  IRISHMAN  AND  ICE-CREAM. 

coaxed,  persuaded,  and  bullied  the  boys  who  owed  her  money 
to  pay  their  debts.  This  may  stagger  some ;  for  I  know  it  is 
rather  a  novel  situation  in  which  to  place  an  Irishman,  this 
making  him  make  other  people  pay  their  debts.  But  I  am  not 
writing  a  romance,  but  telling  the  truth. 

It  really  was  an  unselfish  act  in  this  Martin,  —  particularly 
so,  for  the  unpleasant  old  woman  for  whom  he  battled  was  as 
deficient  in  the  grace  of  gratitude  as  she  was  in  the  graces  of 
person.  She  did  not  even  thank  her  champion, — even  so  much 
as  by  a  blessing  or  an  apple.  In  fact,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
she  tried  to  get  ahead,  in  a  little  pecuniary  transaction  after- 
wards, of  her  gallant  Irishman,  and,  I  presume,  probably  suc- 
ceeded—  as  she  was  a  Yankee. 

Martin,  in  addition  to  his  general  characteristics  as  an  Irish- 
man, had  two  special  personal  peculiarities  as  an  individual. 
One  of  these  was  a  decidedly  unconquerable  aversion  to  ice- 
cream. 

This  for  an  Irishman,  —  a  young  Irishman,  —  and  a  rather 
good-looking  young  Irishman,  —  was  a  very  inconvenient  aver- 
sion,—  not  so  much  in  itself  as  in  its  consequences:  for,  as 
is  well  known,  all  Irishmen  are  fond  of  the  ladies ;  and,  as 
is  equally  well  known,  all  ladies  are  fond  of  ice-cream.  Now, 
to  love  the  sex,  and  yet  to  hate  what  the  sex  loves,  is  a  rather 
contradictory  state  of  affairs ;  and  it  perplexed  even  the  Irish- 
man. 

First,  it  led  him  to  avoid  the  ice-cream  saloon  altogether, 
even  when  with  the  girls  (the  pupils  of  the  college  were  allowed 
once  a  week  to  receive  or  visit  friends,  and  they  generally  con- 
trived to  have  one  or  more  friends  of  the  opposite  sex).  But 
this  naturally  led  to  the  girls  considering  him  "economical" 
or  "mean  ;  "  and  an  "economical  "  or  "mean  "  Irishman  is  an 
impossible  absurdity.  As  for  Martin,  he  was  rendered  almost 
"  wild  "  at  the  bare  idea  of  being  thought  "  stingy,"  and  so 


ICE-CREAM  AND  INFLUENCE.  65 

rushed  to  tlie  other  extreme,  of  asking  every  girl  he  knew  to 
take  ice-cream. 

But  tlien,  as  he  did  not  take  any  cream  for  himself,  he  would 
be  compelled  to  explain  tu  each  of  liis  fair  companit)iis  why  he 
did  not.  And  then,  womau-like,  each  of  his  fair  companions 
would  either  laugh  at  him,  or  try  to  talk  him  out  of  his  notion, 
and  into  ice-cream.  Now,  no  Irishman  can  bear  to  be  lauglied 
at.  You  may  laugh  with  him  all  you  like ;  and,  the  more  you 
laugh,  the  better  for  both:  but  you  must  not  ridicule  his  Irish 
geiitlemanship.  And  no  woman  who  ever  lived  can  endure  the 
idea  of  a  man  resisting  her  talk.  When  a  woman  "  talks  at " 
a  man,  she  expects  him  to  surrender  to  her  tongue,  —  else  why 
have  a  tongue  at  all?  And  each  one  of  his  female  companions 
expected  to  coax  and  persuade  her  escort  into  doing  what  he 
did  not  want  to  do  ;  i.e.,  partake  of  the  ice-cream.  Her  amour 
propre  was  involved  in  the  talk.  It  became  a  question,  not  of 
ice-cream,  but  of  influence.  Which  of  the  young  ladies  of  "  the 
students'  quarter '"  should  show  her  power  over  the  Irishman 
by  influencing  him  to  ice-cream?  This  was  the  question;  and 
it  became  a  test-question  among  the  female  population  of 
Worcester, — at  least  among  that  lovely  (though  limited)  por- 
tion of  it  which  came  within  the  sphere  of  the  student's 
acquaintance. 

Various  were  the  blandishments,  various  were  the  stratagems, 
resorted  to,  —  smiles  and  persuasion  were  mingled,  —  by  the 
fair  in  this  their  extraordinary  "  siege  of  Martin,"  as  it  may  be 
called.  But  for  the  first  time,  probably,  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  an  Irishman  resisted  the  ladies,  —  was  obdurate  and 
obstinate,  and  refused  ice-cream. 

Another  peculiarity  of  our  young  Irishman  was  his  hatred  of 
frogs.  This  aversion  to  frogs  was  even  greater  than  his  antipa- 
thy to  ice-cream.  It  was  such  an  instinctive  aversion  as  I  have 
known  the  most  accomplished  and  intelligent  women  to  enter- 


68  TUE  INVOLUNTARY  FROG-EATEi:. 

tain  towards  a  mouse,  —  a  harmless,  and  certainly  not  unhand- 
some, mouse.  Ug  regarded  the  frog  as  a  species  of  snake, 
and  he  hated  a  snake  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  descendant  of 
St.  Patrick.  Tlie  idea  of  tasting  a  frog  to  him  would  have 
been  an  impious  sacrilege  as  well  as  a  physical  imi)ossibility. 
"This  view  of  the  frog-question  "  eft'ectually  prevented  Martin 
from  joining  in  one  of  the  students'  favorite  amu-sements;  i.e., 
frog-catching.  Ponds  abounded  in  the  vicinity  of  our  college 
building,  and  to  those  ponds  it  was  a  custom  of  the  students 
to  proceed  in  what  we  called  "frog-parties."  Armed  with 
sticks  and  stones,  we  would  skin  the  ponds  of  their  frogs,  and 
skin  the  frogs  afterwards,  a  la  Fratifuise.  But  Martin,  though 
a  very  social  creature,  would  stay  at  the  college  on  these 
•occasions,  and  amuse  himself  any  way  he  could,  nolus. 

One  day  at  dinner  I  tr^ed  a  little  joke  on  Martin,  which  was 
;attendcd  with  a  good  deal  more  success  than  I  myself  antici- 
pated, and  was  followed  by  an  effect  that  I  had  not  desired. 
IMartin  was  very  fond  of  hash.  In  this  point,  I  know,  he  differs 
materially  from  the  ordinary  New-York  boarder ;  but  then,  our 
hash  very  materially  differed  from  the  hash  of  the  ordinary 
New- York  boarding-house.  Ours  was  genuine  hash.  There 
were  no  hairs  in  our  hash,  nor  buttons,  nor  an  oUa  podrida  of 
stale  stuff.  It  was  hash,  —  not  refuse.  It  was  really  very 
palatable,  as  well  as  nutritious;  and  Martin  liked  it  — 

Till  the  day  I  played  my  joke  on'liim.  From  that  day  he 
tasted  hash  no  more :  he  would  as  soon  have  eaten  frog.  In 
fact,  that  was  my  little  joke.  I  said  to  him,  pointing  to  a  dish 
of  hash  he  was  devouring  with  relish,  "■  Do  you  know  what 
that  is?" — "Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Martin,  with  a  look  of 
wonder  at  my  question.  "What  is  it?"  said  I.  "Why, 
hash,"  said  he.  "But  what  is  the  hash  made  of?"  said  I. 
*'  Of  meat,  to  be  sure,"  said  he.  "  Not  a  bit  of  meat  in  that 
hash,"  said  I.     "  Then,  what  on  earth  is  there  in  it  ?  "  said  he. 


nOLT-CROSS  COLLEGE.  67 

"  Frogs'  legs  boiled  down,"  said  I.  But  not  a  word  said  he ; 
but  lie  left  the  table  hurriedly,  looking  very  "sea-sick,"  — 
and  he  never  ate  hash  again.  In  vain  I  subsequently  exi)lained 
to  him  that  I  had  been  joking,  and  begged  \m  pardon  for  my 
ill-timed  jest.  The  kind-hearted  fellow  cordially  forgave  me, 
and  never  harbored  malice,  —  but  never  swallowed  hash  either. 
From  that  hour  on  till  probably  his  dying  day,  if  poor  Martin 
is  dead,  or  till  he  dies,  he  never  has  relished,  and  never  can 
enjoy,  hash.  The  idea  of  the  legs  of  frogs  will  always  be  asso- 
ciated with  the  hash.  It  would  be  an  awful  thing  for  New- 
York  landladies  if  there  were  many  Irishmen  like  Martin. 

Well,  \  have  not  seen  Martin  for  many  a  year,  —  probably 
will  never  see  him  again  in  this  world,  —  and  all  our  merry  set 
of  students  are  scattered ;  and  many  of  them  are  dead,  doubt- 
less :  but  I  still  love  to  recall  the  memory  of  the  comparatively 
happy,  and  certainly  harmless,  days  and  nights  which  I  passed 
in  Holy-Cross  College. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  COMMENCE  MY  MKnCANTILE  CAKEEIl.  —  MODERN  TRADE  AS  IT  REALLY 
19.  —  ITS  "seamy"  and  IT8  "  HTARUV  "  HIDES.  —  MODEL  FIRMS  AND 
MILLIONNAIHES.  — CENTENNIAL  EXCURSIONS.  —  A  NEW  VIEW  OF  A.  T. 
8TEWAKT.— JORDAN,   MARSH,   A  CO. 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  I  should  remain  long 
at  college.  My  father's  pecuniary  position  was  such  that  he 
coukl  not  long  afford  to  support  nie  in  idleness,  —  for  conipiirn- 
tive  itlleness  it  was,  —  especially  so  far  as  contributing  any  thing 
to  my  own  expenses  was  concerned.  I  was  not  born,  luckily 
or  unluckily,  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth.  I  was  not  the 
son  of  a  rich  man,  and  bread-and-butter  necessities  were  with 
me  paramount.  I  therefore  was  compelled  to  abandon,  at  an 
early  period,  school,  for  "  real  life,"  which  is  by  far  the  best 
school  after  all.  As  before  remarked,  I  tried  '*  business  "  a  brief 
period  after  leaving  tlie  "  House  of  the  Angel  Guardian  "  and 
before  entering  Hol3'-Cross  College  :  and  now,  after  a  year  at 
college ;  after  a  year  of  study,  and  some  little  success,  I  am  glad 
to  say,  as  a  student ;  after  passing  creditably  an  examination, 
and  being  awarded  a  silver  medal  as  a  college  prize,  the 
medal  being  handed  me  by  no  less  a  personage  than  Gov. 
Andrew  himself,  —  John  A.  Andrew,  one  of  the  most  illus- 
trious governors  of  the  illustrious  State  of  Massachusetts; 
after  bidding  an  affectionate  good-by  to  my  student  compan- 
ions, —  I  took  a  little  vacation,  and  then  left  college-life  forever, 
and  entered  the  world.  In  other  phrase,  I  was  placed  in  a  store, 
and  commenced  a   .lercantile  career. 


BOl  8  AND  BUSINESS.  69 

This  last  phrase  sums  up  the  history  of  most  boys  in  this 
country.  They  are  "  phieed  in  a  store  to  commence  a  mercan- 
tile career."  Of  course,  there  are  a  certain  number  of  boys 
who  ultimately  study  for  the  "  professions,"  and  a  smaller 
number  who  either  "do  nothing  at  all,"  as  it  is  called,  i.e., 
live  upon  their  relatives'  money,  or  do  even  worse,  and  go  to 
the  bad  outright.  Hut  these  are  the  exceptions  to  the  general 
rule  of  a  mercantile  career.  England  has  been  styled  "  a  nation 
of  shop-keepers,"  and  "  the  United  States  "  is  the  hvnd  of  trado 
and  traders  as  well  as  of  the  trade-dollars. 

How  important  it  is,  therefore,  that,  whenever  possible,  the 
average  American  lad  should  be  trained  for  the  average  Ameri- 
can career.  My  first  "  place,"  as  the  saying  goes,  was  with  the 
firm  of  G.  W.  Warren  &  Co.,  now  known  all  over  the  conti- 
nent as  Jordan,  Marsh,  &  Co.  In  this  place,  I  hope  it  is  not 
vain  for  me  to  state  that  I  was  frequently  complimented  by 
William  H.  O'Brien,  Esq,  one  of  the  firm  (since  deceased), 
and  by  John  J.  Stevens,  Esq.,  the  superintendent  of  the  estab- 
lishment. 

I  was  naturally  quick  at  grasping  the  main  points  of  any 
subject  presented  to  me ;  and,  now  bro'igbt  face  to  face  with 
trade,  I  appreciated  at  once  the  importance  of  two  things,  — 
keeping  my  eyes  open,  and  my  legs  and  arms  busy  in  the  inter- 
ests of  my  employers,  which  was  my  own  interest. 

I  liked  "business,"  too,  what  little  I  knew  of  it.  It  brought 
me  into  constant  contact  with  other  boys  and  men.  It  gave 
me  a  chance  to  read  in  the  big  book  of  humanity,  which,  in 
the  estimation  of  most  boys,  surpasses  in  interest  any  other  big 
book  written.  It  was  a  "•  sociable  "  study,  with  living  beings 
for  printed  words.  Most  boys  possess  the  "trading"  spirit, 
as  witness  their  fondness  for  "swapping."  Boys  are  often  as 
keen  at  bargains  as  men ;  and  I  must  confess  that  there  was 
something  in  the  very  air  of  "  business  "  that  seemed,  as  it  were, 


70  MODERN  TRADE. 

*'to  agree  with  my  constitution."  I  Huppose,  that  Imving  hecii 
born  in  Canada,  and  Canada  not  lying  far  from  New  Englund, 
may  have  had  something  to  do  witli  it.  Tlioy  do  say  that  a 
genuino  Kunuck  is  not  far  behind,  in  cuteness,  a  genuine 
Yankee.  However  this  may  be,  I  really  liked  business  and  its 
ways,  and  was  somewhat  sorry  when  it  was  thought  by  my 
father  l)est  to  send  me  to  sehool  again,  or  rather,  this  time, 
to  college. 

While  I  was  at  college  my  brothers  remained  in  trade  in  the 
employ  of  the  firm  of  C.  C.  Ilolbrook  &  Co.,  No.  12  Summer 
Street,  Boston ;  and,  when  I  left  college  "  for  good,"  I  likewise 
obtained  a  place  in  this  establishment. 

My  brothers  and  myself  were  fortunate  in  thus,  at  the  very 
outset  of  our  careers,  obtaining  positions,  however  lunuble, 
in  such  well-known  houses  as  Warren  &  Co.  and  Ilolbrook  & 
Co.  These  firms  represented  "  business  "  at  its  best,  not  only 
its  enterprise,  its  shrewdness,  its  keenness  of  calculation,  its 
grasping  ambition,  its  far-reaehing  desire  for  gain,  —  all  of  whicii 
are  very  well,  indispensable  in  their  way,  —  but  also  in  its 
nobler  and  higher  aspects,  in  its  liberality,  its  large-heartedness, 
its  honesty,  and  conscientiousness.  Thank  Heaven,  there  are 
such  things  in  modern  trade ! 

We  hear  and  read  a  great  deal,  and  sometimes  a  great 
deal  too  much,  about  the  petty  dishonesties  of  trade  and  the 
gigantic  swindles  of  business.  The  papers  are  full  of  accounts 
of  wild  speculations,  debasing  peculations,  little,  very  little 
and  belittling  dodges  and  tricks  for  gain,  and  brutal  heart- 
lessness.  We  read  every  day  of  frauds  attempted,  committed, 
or  detected.  Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  employees  by  soulless  employers.  The  over-worked  and 
under-paid  clerk  or  shop-girl  is  a  common  —  far  too  common 
—  gpeclacle. 

But  we   do  not  hear  and  do   not  read,  as   often  as  we 


JORDAX,  M  An  fill,   it-  CO.  71 

ehould,  of  tho  lionost  (ind  upHpht  mon  who  do  busiiiess  in  our 
niidst.  We  are  not  niiido  us  I'iiiniliiir  as  wo  ought  to  l)o  with 
tlio  history  of  finns  whleh  coinhino  worhlly  Hhrewdiiess  with 
Christian  principle,  nnd  tho  numagera  of  which  prsutiso  that 
true  godliness  which,  wo  aro  told,  hiw  tlio  promise  of  this  life, 
nnd  of  the  life  that  is  to  come.  Yet  there  are  hnndreds, 
thousands  of  such  firms  doing  business,  and  doing  it  thor- 
oughly, .successfully,  and  satisfactorily,  in  all  our  large  cities. 
Tho  two  firms  under  which  my  earliest  business  life  was  passed 
were  cases  in  point. 

Take  Jordan,  Marsh,  &  Co.  (tho  firm  into  which  G.  W. 
Warren  »&  Co.  was  merged)  for  example:  this  firm  transacts 
an  enormous  business  on  the  most  intelligently  liberal,  as  well 
as  economical,  principles.  Its  operations  and  receipts  are 
simply  enormous.  It  is  shrewdness  itself;  yet  it  has  a  soul,  a 
system  with  a  soul  in  it,  —  a  system  which,  while  it  regards  its 
numerous  cmiiloyees  as  money-makers  for  its  interests,  also 
regards  them  as  human  beings,  with  souls  and  bodies  of  their 
own,  which  claim  a  certain  share  of  consideration  at  its  hands. 
Ill  pursuance  of  this  soulful  ,  nd  therefore  truly  sensible  system, 
this  celebrated  firm  has  sent,  at  its  expense,  excursion  parties 
of  its  employees  to  Europe.  In  pursuance  of  this  system,  this 
firm  treats  all  its  employees  like  men,  women,  or  children,  as 
the  case  may  be,  not  as  mere  machines.  In  pursuance  of  this 
blessed,  truly  Christian  system  of  doing  business,  this  firm,  as 
far  as  possible,  looks  after  the  individual  welfare  of  its  em- 
ployees, and  thereby  best  promotes  its  own  welfare  ;  for  it  goes 
without  saying,  that  such  a  firm  as  Jordan,  Marsh,  &  Co.  is 
well  served. 

Boston  has  many  things  to  be  proud  of,  alike  in  the  line  of 
political  history  and  literary  achievement.  But,  to  my  mind, 
the  success  of  such  a  firm  as  Jordan,  Marsh,  &  Co.,  in  its 
midst,  is  as  good  a  thing  to  be  proud  of  as  any  other. 


72  A   CHRISTM..S  GIFT. 

It  proves,  that  spite  of  their  well-known,  their  proverbial, 
shrewdness,  "Yankee  traders"  liave  hearts  as  well  as  brains, 
and  that  they  have  respect  for  the  law  of  Love  as  well  as 
the  laws  of  Business.  For  years  the  firm  of  Jordan,  Marsh, 
&  Co.  have  been  a  household  word  in  Boston,  synonymous 
with  liberality,  fair  dealing,  and  courtesy,  as  well  as  far-reach- 
ing ent(r[)rise.  For  years  upon  years  the  firm  of  Jordan, 
Marsh,  &>  Co.  have  been  identical,  as  it  were,  with  humanity, 
as  well  as  with  mercantile  honor ;  with  charity,  as  well  as 
integrity  ;  with  Christianity,  as  well  as  trade. 

I  would  also  take  this  opportunity  of  speaking  a  kind  word 
in  memoriam  concerning  the  late  Mr.  Holbrook,  the  senior 
member  of  the  firm  of  C.  C.  Holbrook  &  Co.  Like  the  mem- 
bers of  the  firm  of  Jordan,  Marsh,  &  Co.,  this  gentleman's 
system  of  doing  business  had  a  soul  in  it.  He  was  always 
willing  to  help  the  industrious,  the  humble,  and  the  poor,  in 
their  times  of  distress  and  trouble.  His  employees  always 
found  in  him,  not  only  an  employer,  but  a  friend.  He  was 
always  striving  to  advance  the  true  interests  of  all  in  any 
way  connected  with  him.  The  world  would  be  the  better 
for  more  such  generous  hearts.  Sorrow  is  alleviated  by  kind 
deeds. 

But  it  was  not  merely  ray  luck  or  the  luck  of  my  brothers 
to  meet  such  model  employers  as  these.  The  business  world  is 
full  of  tliem,  and  their  numbers  are  increasing  every  day. 

Last  Christmas,  for  example,  an  illustration  was  given  to  the 
world.  A  firm  doing  business  in  Jersey  City,  —  a  firm  whose 
name  I  do  not  now  recall,  —  a  firm  which  had  never  made  any 
great  pretensions  to  superior  humanity  or  philanthropy  or 
Christianity,  —  made  its  hundreds  of  employees  an  unexpected 
Christmas  present,  and  made  tlie  present  in  such  a  way  and  by 
such  a  system  as  to  greatly  enhance  the  value  of  the  gift. 

Each  employee  of  this  firm,  from  the  porter  or  the  humblest 


INVESTING  IN  HUMAN  NATURE.  73 

cash-boy  up  to  the  confidential  book-keeper  and  tlie  treasurer  of 
the  concern,  received  a  letter  from  the  firm,  expressing  its 
interest  in  his  welfare,  wishing  him  the  compliments  of  the 
season,  and  requesting  his  acceptance  of  an  enclosed  gift, 
amounting  to  just  one  fifty-second  part  of  his  yearly  salary,  or 
one  week's  wages. 

The  boy  at  three  dollars  a  week  received  as  a  holiday  gift 
just  three  dollars  in  cash  ;  and  the  gentleman  in  a  responsible 
position,  at  a  salary  of  ten  thousand  a  year,  received  two  hun- 
dred dollars  in  cash,  or  thereabouts,  pro  rata. 

Such  a  gift  as  this  was  received  with  respect  and  with  grati- 
fication by  all  parties,  and  bore  in  its  value  a  direct  relation 
to  the  social  and  personal  status  of  the  recipient,  and  his 
business  importance  to  the  firm.  There  could  be  no  invidious 
distinctions  in  gifts  distributed  on  such  a  basis  as  this.  Such 
tokens  of  good  will  could  by  no  chance  give  rise  to  ill  will. 
Such  giving  as  this  very  closely  approximated  absolute  perfec- 
tion. 

Such  Christmas  gifts  were  double  blessings, — blessings  to 
those  who  received  and  to  those  who  gave.  And,  whatever 
expenditures  this  firm  may  hereafter  have  cause  to  regret,  it 
never  can  by  any  possibility  have  reason  to  regret  this  holiday 
expenditure. 

I  venture  to  state,  that  every  man  and  boy  in  the  employ  of 
this  firm  will  work  harder  and  more  conscientiously  this  year 
in  its  interests  than  would  have  been  the  case  if  he  had  not 
been  tlius  kindly  and  delicately  "  remembered."  And  I  have 
no  doubt  at  all,  that  whatever  sum  of  money  was  laid  out  in 
these  Christmas  gifts  will,  during  the  year,  be  "  made  up,"  in 
half  a  hundred  ways,  tenfold. 

It  was  an  investment  in  human  nature  which  will  pay  big 
interest,  and  repay  the  principal. 

During  the  Centeuuial  Exhibition  at  Pliiladelphia,  several 


74  "ADVERTISING." 

leading  firms  displayed  a  wise  because  kindly  liberality  and 
public  spirit  towards  their  employees.  The  Singer  Sewing- 
IMachine  Company,  for  example,  "  treated,"  at  a  heavy  expense, 
its  army  of  employees  to  a  trip  to  the  Centennial  Fair.  Sev- 
eral thousand  working  men  and  women  were  thus  enabled  to 
liave  a  holiday,  and  to  devote  it  to  mingled  improvement  and 
enjoyment.  This  opportunity  was  hugely  relished  by  the  em- 
ployees, and  is  not  to  this  day  forgotten. 

It  may  be  said,  that  the  Singer  Company  received  for  this 
good  work  a  goodly  share  of  advertising.  So  it  did,  and  so  it 
deserve^  But  I  am  in  a  situation  to  know  that  this  "adver- 
tising "  was  entirely  an  after-thought.  The  affair  originated,  m 
a  sincere  desire  on  the  part  of  the  officers  of  the  company  to 
please  and  benefit  their  hard-worked  underlings,  and  they  did 
not  at  first  calculate  upon  the  matter  receiving  the  public  at- 
tention wliich  was  awarder',  it.  This  public  attention  was  sub- 
sequently utilized,  and  cleverly,  it  is  true ,  but  the  advertising 
idea  was  the  suggestion  of  an  experienced  journalist,  uncon- 
nected in  any  way  with  the  company :  and  the  affair,  so  far  as 
the  Singer  Company  was  concerned,  was  one  of  pure  philan- 
thropy. The  same  remarks  apply  to  the  excursion  of  the 
Steinway  employees  to  the  Centennial.  This  was  the  pet  pro- 
ject of  Mr.  William  Steinway  himt^elf,  and  was  carried  out  in 
every  respect  upon  the  most  liberal  scale. 

Apropos  of  the  Centennial,  a  'rentleman  of  the  city  of  Tevr 
York  —  a  manufacturer  largely  interested  in  American  goods, 
—  expended  over  ten  housand  dollars  in  sending  parties  of 
workingmen,  at  his  expense,  to  visit  the  exhibition ;  althougL 
his  name  has  never  been  published  in  connection  with  this 
matter.  Certainly,  the  point  about  "  advertising "  does  not 
apply  in  this  case  ;  as  the  gentleman's  name  never  transpired. 
In  fact,  I  only  know  of  the  fact  myself,  but  could  not  give  the 
individual's  name  if  I  wanted  to ;  as  I  do  not  know  it. 


A.   T.   STEWART.  IF 

The  late  A.  T.  Stevart  was  a  man  who  believed  in  a  bond 
of  sympathy,  and  something  better  than  mere  synipatlij,  unit- 
ing employer  and  employee.  This  may  be  news  to  the  public, 
but  it  is  the  simple  truth.  Perhaps  no  man  as  widely  known 
as  A.  T.  Stewart  was  ever  so  little  known,  and  so  generally 
misunderstood.  He  lived  and  died  among  a  community  which 
knew  all  about  him  as  a  rich  man,  but  knew  nothing  about  him 
as  a  man. 

He  was  considered  a  hard,  cold,  unsympathetic  individual ; 
yet  his  life  and  acts  prove  that  he  was  the  very  reverse.  His 
manner  was  unfortunate  for  himself.  He  was  repellant  rather 
than  magnetic,  reserved  in  demeanor,  chary  of  speech.  But  he 
was  constantly  doing  good,  and  trying  to  do  more  than  he  ever 
accomplished. 

His  faults  were  those  of  his  system,  which,  as  he  described 
it  once  (in  an  interview  with  Mr.  David  G.  Croly,  the  editor 
of  "  The  World  "),  was  "  simply  business."  In  all  matters  of 
"  business  "  he  was  guided  solely  by  "  business,"  and  he  never 
allowed  sentiment  or  friendship  or  philanthropy  a  place  in  his 
"  business  "  at  all.  "  If  I  did,  I  would  have  no  business  at  all," 
he  said. 

When  "  business  "  demanded  that  he  should  "  break  down  " 
a  rival  house,  or  a  firm  which  aspired  to  compete  with  him  in 
any  line  of  goods,  why,  he  simply  bent  all  his  energies  to  work, 
and  "  broke  down  "  that  house,  —  "  wiped  out "  that  firm. 

When  his  contractor  signed  an  agreement  to  erect  his  marble 
palace  on  Fifth  Avenue  for  a  certain  sura,  Stewart  held  his 
contractor  to  that  agreement.  If  he  lost  his  all  in  complying 
with  the  terms  of  his  contract,  that  was  the  contractor's  mis- 
fortune, not  Stewart's  fault.  So  Stewart  reasoned  from  a 
"  business-:  "  stand-point ;  and,  from  a  purely  "  business  "  stand- 
point, he  v/as  right. 

Undoubtedly,  it  must  be  conceded,  that,  like  all  men  with 


76  "  THE  WOMAN'S  HOTEL." 

"  a  system,"  Mr.  Stewart  sometimes  carried  his  system  too  far. 
He  was  only  human  after  all ;  and,  to  avail  myself  of  a  colle- 
giate quotation,  "  humanum  est  errare." 

But,  outside  of  his  "  system,"  A.  T.  Stewart  possessed  many 
admirable  qualities  of  heart,  and  was  constantly  demonstrating 
then  possession. 

He  was  not  only  a  liberal  patron  of  tne  arts,  but  a  developer 
of  nature.  He  bought  an  unattractive  stretch  of  land,  and 
by  care  and  outlay  r'^ndered  it  "a  garden  city."  And,  when 
Ireland  ^vas  famishing,  he  sent  it  relief.  And,  wherever  great 
distress  was  found,  A.  T.  Stewart  was  found  to  relieve  it. 

In  his  treatment  of  his  employees  he  observed  certain  rules. 
He  exacted  entire  obedience  to  a  certain  routine,  any  violation 
of  which  was  always  and  severely  punished.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  paid  always  in  full  and  promptly,  was  quick  to 
recognize  merit,  and  ready,  nay,  anxious,  to  encourage  it.  As 
an  employee  of  eighteen  years'  standing  once  remarked,  "  Only 
the  shift?less,  the  stupid,  or  the  lazy  find  fault  with  A.  T. 
Stewart." 

During  his  life,  Stewart  paid  out  more  money  to  men  and 
women  than  any  other  one  man  of  his  time ;  and  no  one  in  his 
employ  ever  had  to  wait  for  his  or  her  money.  He  was  enter- 
prising and  honest.  His  most  bitter  rivals,  his  worst  enemies, 
had  to  concede  those  facts. 

But  he  was  more  than  honest  and  enterprising  and  charitable 
on  great  occasions :  he  was  positively  kind-hearted,  as  was 
shown  by  his  favorite  scheme  of  a  home  for  working-women, 
known  as  "  The  Woman's  Hotel."  True,  this  scheme  came  to 
grief.  "  The  Woman's  Hotel  "  fizzled  into  "  The  Park-avenue 
Hotel ; "  but  that  was  the  fault  of  circumstances  and  other  men 
and  of  the  women,  but  not  of  A.  T.  Stewart. 

The  real  history  of  "The  Woman's  Hotel"  has  yet  to  be 
written:  perhaps  it  never  will  hd  written.    From  the  first,  Mr. 


A   "  WORKING-LADY."  77 

Stewart's  plans  were  misunderstood ;  and  to  this  day  they  are 
not  clearly  comprehended,  and  yet  they  were  very  iiracticahle. 

The  gontlemiin  who  has  most  clearly  stated  the  views  of  the 
late  Mr.  Stewart  in  this  connection,  is  Mr.  Clair,  the  manager 
of  the  Metropolitan  and  the  Park-avenue  Hotels.  According 
to  Mr.  Clair,  Mr.  Stewart  never  designed  tlie  structure  on 
Fourth  Avenue  for  the  lower  iind  poorer  class  of  "  working- 
women  : "  these  were  not  the  parties  whom  the  millionnaire 
employer  meant  to  benefit  by  this  particular  charity.  These 
needed  sympathy  and  material  aid,  it  is  true,  but  not  a  really 
elegant  home  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  No :  this  establishment 
was  designed  by  Mr.  Stewart  to  benefit  the  higher  class  of 
female  operatives,  and  especially  that  large  and  ever-increasing 
class  of  women  who,  though  compelled  to  support  themselves, 
as  the  sadly  familiar  phrase  goes,  "  have  seen  better  days." 

It  was  for  this  class  of  women,  accustomed  to  all  the  elegan- 
cies of  life,  but  suddenly  deprived  of  them,  that  the  million- 
naire felt,  and  whom  he  wished  to  aid,  without  offending  their 
individual  delicacy,  wounding .  their  womanly  pride,  or  making 
them  feel  as  if  they  were  "  objects  of  charity."  Certainly,  this 
class  of  females  is  heartily  worthy  of  all  aid  and  sympathy; 
and  it  was  surely  a  gentle,  and  almost  chivalrously  tendei', 
thought  in  the  successful  millionnaire,  to  heed  them  and  their 
needs. 

The  very  poor  women  have  their  hospitals  and  almshouses 
and  charitable  institutions;  the  ordinary  run  of  seamstresses 
and  shop-girls  have  their  haunts  and  compensations ;  but  what 
is  the  fate  of  the  lady,  delicately  reared,  but  compelled  to  earn 
her  living  now,  by  catering  to  the  very  class  among  which  she 
was  wont  to  live  herself? 

She  has  not  lost  her  taste  for  art  and  for  books;  she  has 
not  ceased  to  desire  a  neat  room  and  cleanly  served  food ;  but 
how  is  she  to  live  decently  and  di'ess  decently  on  from  seven 


78  STEWART'S  "  WILL." 

to  ten  dollars  a  week  ?  It  vns  to  answer  this  question  satis- 
factorily, that,  according  to  Mr.  Clair,  Mr.  Stewart  conceited 
the  idea  of  the  Woman's  Hotel,  —  a  hotel  in  which  a  workuig- 
wonian  of  the  higher  grade  —  "a  working-lady,"  say  —  cor  Id 
have  "  a  room  and  board  "  for  from  five  to  seven  lollars  a  week, 
with  privilege  of  bath  and  library  and  parlor;  every  thing 
being  furnished  her  at  the  lowest  cash  cost  price. 

True,  the  idea  was  never  carried  out,  owing  to  the  death  >f 
Mr.  Stewart,  and  owing,  perhaps,  to  some  misunderstandings, 
among  men  and  among  women,  which  arose  subsequent  to  that 
event.  But  I  hold,  that,  assuming  Mr,  Clair's  view  of  Mr. 
Stewart's  view  to  be  correct  (and  Mr.  Clair  is  not  only  a  reli- 
able man,  but  enjoj'^ed  the  fullest  personal  confidence  of  Mr. 
Stewart),  it  is  highly  creditable  to  Mr.  Stewart's  heart  that  he 
entertained  such  an  idea. 

It  proves  that  he  had  a  higher  delicacy  and  gallantry  of 
thought  than  has  been  popularly  supposed,  and  entitles  him 
to  the  gratitude  of  women  in  general,  and  "working-ladies"  in 
especial. 

Let  us  trust,  that  erelong  some  living  millionnaire  will  adopt 
the  late  lamented  Stewart's  idea,  and  carry  it  out  into  its  fair 
fulfilment.  There  is  a  Big  Blessing  (a  Blessing  with  a  very 
big  B)  waiting  for  that  millionnaire.  But  it  was  in  the  last  and 
the  most  unselfish  act  of  his  life  that  A.  T.  Stewart  demon- 
strated his  real  nobility  of  soul,  and  his  genuine  kindly  sym- 
pathy with  those  in  his  employ.  He  was  one  of  the  very  few 
men  who  ever  remembered  their  employees  afto'  deatJi,  who 
thought  about  his  working-people  when  dying,  and  remembered 
them  in  his  will. 

To  my  mind,  —  and  I  know  of  many  who  are  of  like  think- 
ing,— the  will  of  A.  T.  Stewart  was  a  model  one,  especially  as 
regards  that  portion  of  it  in  which  he  bequeaths  certain  suras 
of  money,  ranging  from  five  hundred  dollars  to  ten  thousand 


BLESSED  AKD  BLESSING  AFTER  DEATH.  79 

dollars,  — perhaps  from  less  to  more:  I  am  not  certain  as  to  the 
exact  amounts,  —  to  those  in  his  em^'^oy  who  have  been  in  his 
service  ceitain  specified  lengths  of  time. 

These  bequests  were  very  numerous,  as  his  list  of  employees 
was  very  large,  and  not  only  formed  respectable  sums  each,  but 
amounted  in  the  total  to  hundi-eds  of  thousands  of  dollars, — 
a  fortune  in  themselves. 

There  never  was  a  more  graceful  and  more  generous  recog- 
nition on  the  part  of  an  employer  of  the  claims  of  his  faithful 
employees.  And  there  could  not  have  been  a  more  thoroughly 
unselfish  manifestation  thereof.  His  earthly  career  would  be 
over  when  these  bequests  were  bestowed ;  the  parties  to  whom 
they  would  be  given  could  benefit  him  no  more;  their  faithful 
or  dishonest  service  would  be  alike  to  him ;  besides,  he  really 
owed  them  nothing,  —  not  a  dollar.  He  had  paid  them  fairly, 
fully,  in  many  cases  very  liberally,  for  many  years.  To  many 
of  them  his  business  had  been  their  sole  and  sufficient  support 
for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century, — yet  he  remembered  them 
all. 

Of  course,  minor  exceptions  can  be  taken,  even  to  this  part 
of  the  Stewart  will.  Flaws  can  be  readily  found  in  any  docu- 
ment: but  the  two  facts  remain, — first,  that  it  was  a  generous 
provision  in  itself,  second,  that  it  recognized  a  duty  towards, 
and  evinced  a  feeling  for,  employees  too  seldom  recognized  or 
evinced  by  employei'S. 

And,  like  all  good,  unselfish  deeds,  it  has  brought  a  blessing 
with  it.  Not  only  has  the  will  of  A.  T.  Stewart  given  the  world 
in  general  u  higher  and  truer  estimation  of  the  man  who  made 
it,  but  it  has  kept  his  memory  green  in  the  hearts  and  homes 
of  hundreds. 

It  was  only  the  other  morning  that  the  writer  heard  a  man 
say,  "God  bless  A.  T.  Stewart!"  taking  off  his  hat  as  he  said 
so.    Now,  it  is  something  rare  to  hear  one  man  bless  another, 


80  EMPLOYERS  A^D  EMPLOYEES. 

still  rarer  to  hear  a  poor  man  Wess  a  rich  man,  rarest  of  all  to 
hear  a  living  man  bless  the  dead. 

It  was  ut  the  stage-entrance  of  Dalj,  s  Theatre ;  aiid  the 
speoV'jr  was  the  janitor,  or  stage-tloor-nian,  of  tliat  establishment. 
This  individual  had  been  one  of  the  old  employees  of  Stewart, 
•  and  had  received  one  thousand  dollars  from  the  estate,  accord- 
ing to  the  terms  of  the  will.  This  bequest,  utterly  unex- 
pected, wholly  unearned,  a  pure  gift,  enabled  the  hard-working 
recipient  to  "  put  in  bank  "  at  one  time  more  money  than  he 
liad  been  able  to  save  in  all  his  lifetime ;  and  that  one  thousand 
dollars  remains  in  the  savings-bank  still.  And  tlie  dead  and 
gone,  the  almost  forgotten,  the,  in  a  business  point  of  view, 
"obliterated"  milHonnaire,  is  never  alluded  to  by  his  grateful 
employee  but  with  respect  and  blessing. 

It  is  something  to  be  thus  remembered  by  hundreds.  If  there 
are  millionnaires  yearning  for  true  fame,  for  a  memory  worth 
keeping,  let  them  go  and  make  a  will  like  A.  T.  Stewart's. 

I  have  dwelt  somewhat  at  length  upon  this  theme,  because  it 
has  forcibly  struck  me  of  late  that  gross  injustice  has  been 
rendered  to  Mr.  Stewart  in  many  quarters,  but  chiefly  because 
the  facts  which  I  have  stated  serve  to  show  that  there  is  a 
kindly  recognition  nowadaj-s,  even  among  the  most  successful 
and  shrewd  traders  of  the  time,  of  the  humanitarian  claims 
of  their  employees. 

Mr.  Clafllin,  the  head  of  the  great  firm  of  H.  B.  Clafflin  &  Co., 
the  only  successful  rival  of  A.  T.  Stewart  &  Co.  in  the  whole- 
sale line,  is  another  of  the  millionnaire  emj)loyers  who  entertain, 
and  prove  that  they  entertain,  kindly  feelings  towards  the 
"million  "  who  are  not  employers.  Mr.  Clafflin's  personal  inter- 
course with  his  army  of  clerks  has  ever  been  of  the  friendliest 
description  ;  and  although  a  disciplinarian  in  theorj',  and  a  keen 
business  man  in  practice,  he  is  the  soul  of  good  fellowship  and 
the  incarnation  of  good  feeling. 


TEE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THADE.  81 

Scores  of  similar  instances  could  be  cited,  did  space  permit. 
Alike  in  this  coinitry  and  in  Europe  employers  are  to  bo  found 
who  are  "human"  men  as  well  as  "business"  men,  and  who, 
while  they  exact  work  of  the  men  to  whom  they  pay  wage,  y,  t 
ever  feel,  and  show  that  they  feel,  that  their  relations  with  tli.jir 
emi^oyees  does  not  end  with  work  and  wage. 

Some  firms  have  even  erected  libraries  and  lyceums'  for  the 
benefit  of  their  work-people,  and  have  furnished  them  (though 
at  a  loss,  or  at  least  with  no  interest  on  their  investment)  with 
comfortable  homes  within  their  means. 

These  facts  are  encouraging,  and  show,  that,  if  there  is  "a 
seamy  side  "  to  modern  trade,  there  is  also  a  "  stany  "  side.  Let 
us  pray  for  more  "stars." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW  I    FELL  FROM   GRACE,   ANI>  LOST    MY  PLACE, —RAILROAD    LIFE.  —  ON 

TO  NEW  YORK. 

For  a  while  I  was  steady  in  my  attention  to  business,  and 
had  every  reason  to  continue  so.  As  I  luive  previously  men- 
tioned, I  was  complimented  by  the  praise  of  my  employers,  or 
their  representatives ;  and  I  stood  well  among  my  fellow  clerks 
and  employees.  I  developed  an  aptitude  for  trade,  and  a 
bright  future  opened  itself  before  me  ;  but,  alas  !  it  was  not  to 
be  realized. 

I  have  before  remarked  that  I  was  of  a  social  disposition, 
and  what  is  called  "popular"  among  my  associates.  This 
quality  has  its  curse  as  well  as  its  blessing ;  and  to  me,  at  this 
period  of  my  life,  it  was  a  positive  misfortune.  For  it  is  one 
of  the  necessities  of  popularity  to  "follow  the  multitude," 
even  "  if  to  do  evil :  "  to  be  popular  with  others,  you  must  do 
what  others  do,  and  be  what  others  are ;  and,  if  they  be  foolish 
and  do  wrong,  you  must  repeat  the  folly  and  the  wrong.  Now, 
boys,  like  men,  have  their  vicious  tendencies  and  indulgences ; 
and  among  the  lads  and  young  men  with  whom  I  was  now 
brought  into  constant  intercourse  were  some  who  were  addicted 
to  smoking,  and  more  to  drinking. 

I  was  left  more  to  myself  now,  too,  than  when  at  the  "  House 
of  the  Angel  Guardian,"  or  at  the  College  of  the  Holy  Cross. 
In  our  system  of  modern  trade,  every  boy,  as  well  as  man,  is 
left  "  master  of  himself,"  if  of  nothing  or  nobody  else :  he  is 
"left  to  himself"  and  by  himself.    The  homely  but  striking 

82 


A  DISSIPATED  BOY.  83 

remark  here  trutlifully  applies,  "Every  tub  must  stand  upon 
its  own  bottom."  So  when  I  now  met  smokers  and  tobacco- 
cliewers,  and  frequenters  of  bar-rooms  "  on  the  sly,"  there  was 
no  father  to  guard  nie,  no  mother  to  tcniderly  watch  over  me, 
no  teacher  even  to  prevent  me  ;  but,  foUowing  the  lead  of  my 
thoughtless  or  evil  companions,  I  gave  way  to  my  lately 
restrained  appetites,  and  became  once  more  a  drinker  and  a 
drunkard. 

At  first  I  felt  some  shame  at  yielding  to  my  grosser  appe- 
tites, and  the  memory  of  my  past  sufTt'iings  arose  before  me 
as  a  warning.  Rut,  alas !  the  curse  was  on  me  and  in  me.  It 
was  in  my  very  nature,  —  mixed,  as  it  were,  with  my  very  blood. 
It  had  been  restrained  by  circumstances  a  while  ;  it  had,  so  to 
speak,  fallen  asleep  ;  but  now  it  came  to  the  surface  as  active 
as  ever. 

I  became  gradually  —  ny,  and  rapidly  —  a  "dissipated  "  boy, 
which  is,  if  possible,  a  shade  worse  and  more  disgusting  than  a 
dissipated  man ;  because  it  is  more  precociously  and  unex- 
pectedly silly  and  shameful.  I  smoked,  I  chewed,  I  used  slang. 
I  swore  occasionall}-,  to  demonstrate  —  Heaven  save  the  mark! 
—  my  growing  manhood.  I  frequented  music-halls  and  variety 
theatres  whenever  I  got  the  money  or  the  chance ;  and  I 
became  a  "  good  "  (?)  customer  of  certain  beer  and  bar  rooms, 
and  renewed  my  thirst  for  malt  and  spirituous  liquors,  the  latter 
especially. 

My  appetites,  for  a  while  in  leash,  had  broke  their  bonds. 
Circumstances  had  mastered  them  for  a  time :  now  they  mas- 
tered me. 

Of  course,  I  neglected  my  duties ;  of  course,  I  became  care- 
less ;  of  course,  the  change  was  noticed  in  me ;  and  I  was  re- 
proved for  it,  first  kindly,  then  severely ;  but,  of  course,  neither 
kind  remonstrances  nor  rebuke  had  any  effect.  "I  was  joined 
to  my  idols ; "  or,  to  quote  another  and  even  more  appropriate 


84  ANOTIlEn   CUANCE. 

scriptural  simile,  "  the  hog  tliut  had  been  washed  returned  to 
tiio  wallowing  in  the  iniro."  I  said  to  Evil,  "  IJo  thou  my 
Good;  "  and  soon  the  inevitable  result  followed. 

After  va"'ou8  reproofs,  after  various  expressions  of  contri- 
tion, after  spasmodic  efforts  at  reform,  followed  by  even  more 
flagrant  falls  than  before,  I  was  discharged  fronj  my  place. 

This  shock  sobered  me,  but  only  for  a  brief  i)eriod.  The 
lesson  ^taught  me  by  the  losing  of  my  situation  was  neutralizeil 
by  the  hi  'ing  nothing  more  to  do,  and  so  having  plenty  of  idle 
time,  Wkdch,  to  a  boy  like  me,  meant  mischief;  while  the 
healthy  shame  I  felt  at  having  lost  the  esteem  of  my  employers, 
and  of  my  industrious  young  associates,  and  my  hard-working 
and  sober  brotiiers,  was  soon  lost  in  the  feeling  of  freedom  I 
possessed,  —  a  dangerous  freedom  from  work  and  restraint, — 
and  in  the  worthless  society  of  a  few  lads  as  foolish  and  as  evil 
as  myself. 

In  short,  I  got  to  be  w'mt  is  familiarly  and  forcibly  called 
"a  loafer."  I  spent  my  days  and  nights  in  "loafing"  about  the 
city;  and  this  is,  perhaps,  the  most  terrible  position  in  which 
a  boy  or  young  man  can  be  placed.  It  is  the  "  loafer  "  that 
generally  matures  into  the  "criminal."  It  is  the  "loafer"  who 
ultimately  helps  to  fill  the  almshouse  or  the  prison. 

"  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do." 

But  at  this  juncture  —  this  crisis  of  my  life  —  Providence, 
kind  Providence,  interposed,  and  gave  mo  another  chance  for 
employment  and  reform.  Through  the  kindness  of  William 
H.  Morrill,  Esq.,  general  freight  agent  of  the  Boston  and  Provi- 
dence Railroad,  I  obtained  a  situation  in  the  freight-department 
of  that  flourishing  road. 

At  first  I  really  endeavored  to  repay  Mr.  Morrill  for  his  kind- 
ness by  proving  myself  worthy  of  it.    I  honestly  resolved  to 


"  Here  was  the  temptation  brought  right  to  me  "  [p.  85], 


SLAVERY  TO  f<ELF.  85 

surrender  my  bad  habits  and  companions,  and  to  settle  down 
to  hard  work.  But  a  bad  habit  or  an  unlawful  appetite  once 
held  in  check,  and  tUen  let  loose  again,  is  more  difficult  to  re- 
strain ov  control  than  before ;  just  as  a  relapse  is  more  fatal, 
oftentimes,  than  the  first  attack  of  a  disease. 

My  thirst,  my  drunkard's  thirst,  had  returned  to  me  with 
more  than  its  original  fierceness.  That  desire  for  strong  drink 
which  I  had  contracted  when  a  mere  child,  which  had  cursed 
my  entrance  into  life,  which  had  then  been  restrained  by  my 
school  and  college  discipline,  and  which  had  broken  out  afresh 
amid  the  temptations  of  trade,  had  now  become  a  raging  fever. 
It  was  my  tyrant  as  well  as  my  curse :  it  ruled  me  completely. 

Talk  about  slavery,  there  is  no  slavery,  no  absolute  slavery, 
save  that  of  a  human  being,  young  or  old,  to  his  or  her  own 
appetites.  The  galley-slave,  chained  to  the  oar ;  the  prisoner, 
working  under  the  eye  of  the  keeper,  and  within  reach  of  the 
lash  ;  the  poor  heathen  African,  laboring  under  a  broiling  sun, 
at  the  sole  mercy  of  his  cannibal  despot,  —  all  these  are  slaves. 
But  none  of  these  are  so  truly  and  verily  a  slave  as  the  man 
or  boy  who  carries  his  master,  his  cruel,  merciless  master, 
inside  of  himself  constantly,  who  bears  with  him  everywhere 
and  always  that  cursed,  ceaseless  craving  for  drink,  which  miist 
n.t  all  hazards  be  gratified,  which  demands  obedience  spite  of 
prudence,  principle,  God,  man,  or  himself.  The  slave  of  drink 
is  the  only  real  slave  on  earth,  and  such  a  slave  I  was  now 
becoming.  Unfortunately,  the  very  business,  or  occupation,  I 
was  now  engaged  in,  was  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  very 
temptations  which  I  found  it  so  difficult  to  resist.  The  "  rail- 
road "  line  of  life,  so  to  speak,  runs  through  all  kinds  of  moral 
dangers.  It  is  in  itself  as  useful,  as  honorable,  and  as  "  moral," 
as  any  other  employment;  but  the  constant  meeting  with  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  people  which  it  necessitates ;  the  physi- 
cal strain  which  it  sometimes  produces ;  the  wear  and  tear  upon 


86  MORE  TEMPTATION. 

the  nerves;  the  constant  "worries"  which  accompany  it;  the 
irregular  hours,  which,  as  it  were,  go  with  the  business,  espe- 
cially with  the  freight-handling  department  of  it ;  the  alterna- 
tions from  hours  of  excessive  work  to  hours  of  no  work  at  all, 
only  waiting  for  the  next  train,  —  all  these  lead,  unless  con- 
stant care  is  exercised,  to  what  are  styled  "  drinking-habits." 

In  my  case  the  matter  was  made  still  worse  by  the  fact  that 
it  was  part  of  my  regular  duty  now  to  superintend  the  han- 
dling, forwarding,  or  delivering  of  freight,  which  often  consisted 
of  spirituous  liquor  or  beer. 

Barrels  upon  barrels  of  liquor  would  pass  over  the  railroad, 
and  would  be  for  a  shorter  or  longer  period  of  time  under  my 
care.  Here  was  the  temptation  brought  right  to  me.  What 
a  situation  for  a  human  being  already  dominated  by  the  love 
of  liquor !  The  seeds  sown  in  my  early  childhood  began  to 
develop  themselves  with  alarming  rapidity  :  my  tliirst  grew  at 
times  almost  intolerable.  As  the  barrels  of  beer  would  pass 
slowly  over  the  road,  entering  into  or  leaving  the  depot,  I 
would  watch  them  with  hungry,  that  is,  thirsty,  eye:  and  I 
learned  soon  to  avail  myself  of  every  chance  to  gat  at  their 
contents;  and  there  were  always  chances,  —  there  were  nu- 
merous "damaged"  barrels.  I  became  a  confirmed  d  inker; 
though,  having  learned  a  little  worldly  wisdom  from  experi- 
ence, I  always  kept  sufficiently  sober  to  attend  to  my  absolutely 
necessary  duties.  But  having  caught  the  desire  for  travel, 
probably  from  seeing  so  much  travel  taking  place  all  around 
me,  I  became  dissatisfied  with  my  position,  and  longed  to  make 
my  entry  into  the  metropolis.  Just  as  all  France  tu/ns  its 
eyes  to  Paris ;  just  ac  every  ambitious  boy  in  England  hopes 
some  day,  like  Whittington,  to  become  lord  mayor  of  London : 
so  every  man  or  boy  on  the  American  continent,  from  Canada 
to  Mexico,  has  dreams  of  some  day  or  other,  being  some- 
body or  other,  in  New  York;  and  these   dreams  seized  me 


'r» 


•    "*■  -P 


^l^ 


"  I  came  to  New  York  "  [p.  87]. 


I  LEAVE  FOB  NE\-    I'ORK.  87 

now:  and  although  Mr.  Morrill  was  kind  to  me  as  eVer; 
although  I  understood  my  present  duties,  and,  spite  of  my 
drinking,  contrived  to,  after  a  fashion,  discharge  them ;  although 
I  was  advised,  even  by  the  officials  of  the  road  requested,  to 
remain,  — I  resigned  my  position,  and  determined  to  seek  Kew 
York,  therein  to  find  my  promised  land. 

I  was  but  doing  what  thousands  have  done  before :  I  was 
but  doing  what  thousands  will  do  again,  tiF  time —  or  New 
York  —  shall  be  no  more. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NEW  YORK  IN  GENERAL.  —  WHO  COME  TO  NEW  YORK,  AND  WHAT  BECOMES 
OF  TIIEM.— WILLIAM  E.  DODGE  AND  JAMES  FI8K,  JUN.  — WHICH  OF  THE 
TWO   MEN  WILL   YOU   IMITATE? 

I  CAME  to  New  York.  Of  how  many  thousands,  tens  of 
thousands,  hundred  of  thousands,  have  these  words  been  said, 
"  He  came  to  New  York ! " 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  farm  where  he  had  been 
reared,  on  which  he  toiled  for  years,  where  he  had  worked 
summer  and  winter,  spring  and  fall,  from  morning  to  night,  for 
a  mere  scanty  wage,  —  it  may  be,  only  for  board  and  clothes. 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  home  where  he  had  been 
carefully  trained,  where  he  had  enjoyed  every  comfort  and 
luxury,  where  a  father's  and  mother's  love  had  watched  over 
him,  and  anticipated  his  every  want,  where  sisters  had  petted 
him,  and  brothers  had  been  his  admiring  companions,  where 
love  had  been  the  atmosphex'e  of  life. 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  forge  where  he  had  earned 
his  frugal  living  by  incessant  labor,  where  he  had  seen  nothing 
of  life  but  its  hard  work. 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  factory,  where  he  had 
been  a  slave  —  nominally  free,  but  really  a  slave  —  white,  but 
only  a  white  slave  —  free  to  work  fourteen  hours  a  day,  or 
starve ;  free  to  grind  his  life  out  for  his  employers'  benefit,  or 
go  to  the  poorhouse,  or  be  carried  to  the  cemetery. 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  college  where  he  had 
burned  the  midnight  oil,  poring  over  the  works  of  sages ;  where 

88 


CAME  AND  BE-CAME.  89 

he  had  read  Homer  and  Horace,  Virgil  and  Sophocles,  and 
had  stored  liis  mind  with  the  intellectual  wealth  of  antiquity. 

"He  came  to  New  York"  from  the  little  country  town 
where  he  had  been  a  doctor,  with  a  small  practice,  scattered 
over  a  vast  area  of  territory ;  or  an  attorney,  in  a  village  where 
the  wealthiest  possible  client  did  not  own  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars in  the  world,  and  where  a  fifty-dollar  retainer  was  a  year's 
wonder ;  or  a  country  clergyman,  where  his  scanty  salary  was 
paid  chiefly  in  prayers  and  potatoes. 

"  He  came  to  New  York "  from  ship-board,  having  roved 
round  the  world,  and,  like  "a  rolling  stone,"  "gathered  no 
moss." 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  hamlet  where  he  had 
lived  all  his  uneventful  life,  never  having  gone  farther  from 
home  than  the  nearest  market-town. 

"  He  came  to  New  York  "  from  the  vast  London,  which  had 
only  proved  a  vast  wilderness  to  him  ;  or  from  the  gay  Paris, 
which  had  proved  but  a  delusion  or  a  snare ;  or  from  frugal 
Germany ;  or  from  down-trodden  Poland,  or  mysterious  Russia. 
From  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  from  all  ranks  of  life,  "Ae 
came  to  New  York." 

But  what  became  of  Mm  in  New  York  ?  Ah !  that  is  the 
question ;  and  how  diverse  are  the  answers ! 

He  became  a  successful  man,  he  made  money  and  friends, 
acquired  fame  and  influence,  became  an  honor  to  himself  and 
his  family,  made  his  old  folks  at  home  proud  of  him. 

Or  he  became  a  scourge,  a  criminal,  and  an  outcast ;  violated 
the  law,  and  was  condemned  to  pay  the  penalty  in  prison-cell ; 
or  sunk  into  the  lowest  depths  of  pauperism ;  haunted  the 
streets  a  beggar ;  haunted  the  parks  in  summer  nights,  and  the 
station-houses  in  winter  nights,  a  bummer  and  a  vagrant. 

Or  he  became  any  one  of  the  hundreds  of  means  that  lie 
between  these  two  extremes  of  fate  j  or  it  may  even  be,  that 


90  THE  CITY  OF  OPPOIiTUNITIES. 

to  this  day  no  one  knows  what  has  become  of  him  ;  all  trace  of 
him  may  have  been  lost ;  all  that  is  definitely  known  of  him 
being,  that  "  he  came  to  New  York." 

New  York  is  at  once  the  best  known  and  the  least  known 
of  all  great  American  cities.  Everybody  almost  knows,  or 
thinks  he  knows,  something  about  it ;  and  yet  no  one,  not  even 
"the  oldest  inhabitant,"  knows  every  thhig.  Each  man  is 
familiar  with  his  side  of  New- York  life :  no  man  is  equally 
familiar  with  all  sides.  And  each  man's  view  of  New  York  is, 
of  course,  greatly  dependent  upon  that  side  of  it  with  which  — 
and  which  alone  —  he  is  acquainted. 

Only  one  thing  is  certain,  and  known  to  and  conceded  by 
all.  New  York  is  pre-eminently  the  city  of  opportunities. 
Everybody  has  a  chance  in  New  York.  Rich  or  poor,  high  or 
low,  country  born  or  city  bred,  smart  or  plodding,  industrious 
or  speculative,  good  or  bad,  New  York  has  "  an  opening "  for 
every  man.  It  affords  him  any  amount  of  material  to  build 
upon ;  but  he  must  decide  what  the  building  shall  be,  and  it 
must  be  erected  by  the  builder's  toil  and  at  the  builder's  risk. 
There  is  only  one  kind  of  man  for  whom  New  York  has  no 
chance  to  offer,  no  place  to  fill,  —  the  fool.  It  is  the  worst 
place  for  fools  of  any  town  in  the  world.  It  taxes  even  the 
highest  grades  of  talent,  but  it  absolutely  grinds  the  fool  to 
powder. 

And  there  is  one  truth  which  is  just  as  certain  as  the  fact 
just  stated:  and  this  latter  truth  cannot  be  too  often  or  too 
thoroughly  impressed  upon  the  youthful  —  or,  for  that  matter, 
upon  the  mature  —  mind;  and  this  truth  is,  that,  while  New 
York  will  perforce  yield  its  treasures  of  opportunity  to  the 
smart  man,  yet  —  and  herein  lies  the  point  —  yet  it  yields  its 
highest  chances,  its  worthiest  prizes,  only  to  the  honest  as  well 
as  smart,  the  good  as  well  as  great. 

It  pays  best,  even  in  New  York,  to  be  religious,  moral,  honest: 


OOD'S  LAWS  IN  NEW  YORK.  91 

believe  me,  it  does.  God's  laws  hold  good  in  the  metropolis 
of  America,  just  as  they  liold  good  everywhere  else  iu  God's 
world.  Two  meu  "  came  to  New  York  "  in  our  time.  Both 
men  were  of  humble  origin ;  both  men  were  ambitious ;  b(»lli 
men  were  gifted  with  energy,  sagacity,  with  the  power  to  see 
and  the  power  to  do ;  both  men  "  came  to  New  York  "  deter- 
mined to  make  the  very  most  of  its  chances,  to  avail  themselves 
to  the  utmost  of  its  opportunities ;  and  both  men  fulfilled  this 
determination,  but  in  very  different,  in  opposite,  ways. 

James  Fisk,  jun.,  came  to  New  York  believing  only  in  money 
and  in  himself,  caring  naught  for  God,  or  man  or  law,  human 
or  divine,  save  the  laws  of  his  own  impulses,  lie  was  very 
active  and  very  able  and  very  unscrupulous,  so  he  succeeded. 
He  gained  notoriety,  influence,  and  wealth ;  he  drove  his  four- 
in-hand,  had  his  theatre  and  liis  regiment  and  his  mistress ;  he 
had  the  world  at  his  feet  —  so  he  thought. 

But  only  for  a  while,  —  a  brief  while,  —  a  few  years.  Then 
he  died  as  the  fool  dieth  ;  died,  shot  by  his  former  friend  ;  died 
in  a  scandal ;  died  with  all  the  world  feasting  on  the  prurient 
details  of  his  troubles ;  died  suddenly,  without  warning ;  died 
iu  the  prime  of  life  ;  died  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head  ;  died, 
to  be  soon  forgotten ;  and  died,  too,  after  all  the  money  he  had 
made  and  squandered,  a  comparatively  poor  man ;  died,  to  live 
in  the  history  of  his  time  only  as  an  erratic  character,  chiefly 
valuable  as  a  warning,  as  a  terrible  example,  to  be  studied  so 
as  to  be  shunned. 

William  E.  Dodge  "  came  to  New  York  "  a  poor  boy,  shrewd, 
eager  for  money,  but  also  upright.  God-fearing,  and  man-loving. 
He  made  money,  —  more  money  than  James  Fisk ;  but  he  made 
it  honestly,  and  spent  it  wisely  and  grandly.  He  did  not 
drink,  like  Fisk,  or  give  fast  suppers ;  but,  instead,  he  founded 
missions  and  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations,  and  contrib- 
uted liberally  to  churches,  Sunday-schools,  and  temperance 


92  WILLIAM  E.  DODGE  AND  JAMES  FI8K,  JUN. 

organizations.  IIo  did  not  Hlenl  from  corporations,  and  then 
give  spasniudicuUy  some  of  liin  ill-got  gains  to  the  poor ;  but  he 
devoted  a  regular  portion  of  his  regular,  immense,  legitimately 
earned  income  to  the  jtoor  and  needy  abroad  and  at  homo.  He 
was  a  good  citizen,  a  8abbath-kee[)ing  citizen,  a  law-abiding 
citizen,  an  inestimable  citizen,  llo  was  a  moral  man,  a  domes- 
tic man,  n  devoted  husband  and  father. 

And  lie  lived  to  be  old  and  honored ;  he  lived  to  see  seven 
sons  growing  up  to  respectable  manhood  all  around  him ;  he 
lived  to  bo  lookovl  up  to  by  the  city  which  he  had  entered  as  a 
poor  boy.  And,  when  he  died,  "  ho  died  the  death  of  the 
righteous."     May  our  "  last  end  bo  like  his  " ! 

James  Fisk,  jun.,  passed  along  the  horizon  of  New  York  like 
a  brilliant  but  baleful  comet,  vanishing  swiftly  into  utter  dark- 
ness ;  but  William  E.  Dodge  shone  for  nearly  half  a  century 
in  New  York  as  a  star  of  constantly  increasing  magnitude  and 
radiance,  —  a  star  which  still  shines,  though  his  earthly  career 
has  closed.  Now,  reader,  which  of  those  two  men,  think  you, 
will  you  imitate  ? 


CHAPTER   X. 

LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK,  SENSATIONAL  AND  nEALISTIC.  — THE  POPULATION  OF 
THE  OREAT  METKOPOMH,  ANI)  ITH  C'lIAnACTKlMHTIC  FEATrHK.H.  —  OEll.MAN, 
IHISII,  AND  AMEIilCAN  NEW  YOKK.  —  FtFTU  AVENUE,  UUOAUWAY,  AND 
THE  UOWEUY. 

Having  tlius  glanced  at  New  York  in  general,  it  will  be  well 
to  take  this  opportunity  of  describing  New  York  in  detail. 
Nothing  can  be  of  more  interest  to  the  avciage  American  than 
an  accurate  pen-picture  of  the  great  metropolis,  and  yet  notliing 
can  be  more  rare.  Books  on  New  York,  and  life  in  the  great 
metropolis,  abound ;  and  yet  I  know  of  none  that  can  be  regarded 
as  altogether  truthful.  Many  are  avowedly  "  sensational ; "  and 
even  those  which  do  not  make  this  claim,  or  disdain  it,  err  in 
tliis  direction  of  "  sensationalism."  Of  course,  any  description, 
with  any  pretence  to  truth,  of  life  in  New  York,  must  have 
nuicli  that  is  startling  and  sensational  in  it.  New  York,  being 
the  largest,  greatest,  richest,  most  crowded,  portion  of  the  New 
World,  must  be  "  a  sensation  "  in  itself.  But,  in  addition  to 
ail  its  "  sensational "  elements,  there  are  to  be  found  in  New 
York  practical,  common-sense,  moral  elements,  which  constitute 
a  large — nay,  the  larger  —  portion  of  metropolitan  life,  and 
which  need  to  be  insisted  and  dwelt  upon  in  every  truthful, 
truly  "  realistic  "  book  or  article  on  New- York  City. 

In  the  pages  which  follow,  I  have  endeavored  to  do  justice  to 
this  fact,  which  has  by  previous  writers  too  often  been  ignored  ; 
and  while  many  of  the  points,  facts,  and  scenes  presented  will 
be  found  "sensational "  enough  in  all  conscience,  the  better  and 


94  THE  POPULATION  OF  NEtt'  YORK. 

brighter  sido  of  Now  York  will  likewi«c  bo  dencribocl ;  nnd,  from 
all  the  detailH  of  the  poii-picturo  I  HhuU  paint,  an  aecurnto  idea 
of  the  great  American  metropolii*  as  a  whole  will  bo  obtained. 
The  real  population  of  New  York  tonhiy  oxcoedH  two  millions 
of  souls,  and  almost  ccpials  that  of  Paris.  Hy  the  "  real  poi)U- 
hition "  I  mean  simply  what  the  words  imply,  —  the  human 
beings  who  help  to  populate  New  Y(»rk  by  (hiy  and  by  night 
constantly,  who  fdl  its  streets,  who  do  business  there,  who  trade 
or  tramp  there,  who  sin  or  enjoy  there,  oven  though  they  may 
sleep  or  have  a  nominal  residence  elsewhere.  Among  the  "  real 
population  "  of  New  York  I  include  the  dwellers  in  Brooklyn, 
Williamsburg,  etc.  Brooklyn  has  been  justly  styled  only  "a 
sleeping -place  for  New-Yorkers ;"  and  now  that  the  bridge  at 
last  is  nearly  finished,  and  a  man  will  soon  be  able  to  walk  or 
ride  from  any  point  in  Brooklyn  to  any  point  in  New  York,  it 
is  certainly  safe  to  predict,  that  in  a  few  years  the  two  cities  — 
the  city  of  charities  and  the  city  of  churches  —  will  be  one  in 
name  as  in  fact.  But  even  if  the  actual  popidatifui  of  New 
York  is  thrown  out  of  consideration,  and  only  the  nominal,  the 
technical,  population  be  regarded, — that  population  which  not 
only  "  lives,"  but  "  resides,"  in  New  York,  —  this  population 
thus  reduced  still  amounts  to  an  immense  figure,  —  over  one 
million  and  a  quarter  of  bodies  and  souls,  —  figures  large  enough 
to  render  the  American  proud  and  the  moralist  thoughtful. 

This  latter  estimate  does  not  include  the  immense  throngs  of 
visitors  for  business  and  pleasure,  of  whom  from  sixty  thou- 
sand to  eighty  thousand  arrive  and  depart  daily.  On  extraor- 
dinary occasions  this  transient  population,  this  throng  of 
visitors,  swells  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  or  even  two 
hundred  thousand. 

The  most  striking,  the  characteristic,  feature  of  the  popula- 
tion of  New  York  is  its  variety  of  nationality,  its  cosmopolitan 
character.     New-Yorkers  are  composed  of  all  nations.    Every 


THE  COSMOrOlITE  METnoroLis.  96 

country  under  lioaven  senclH  ita  natives  to  New  York;  nnd 
every  State  of  the  Union,  and  alinoat  every  hiuulef;  iu  every 
State,  has  its  representatives  in  the  metropolis. 

New  York  is  to-tlay  tlio  third  larcjotit  Gernian  city  in  tho 
world ;  that  is  to  sa}',  no  cities  in  Germany,  save  Vienna  and 
Berlin,  contain  as  niuny  Gorman  citizens  as  New  York. 

New  York  is  to-tlny  tho  largest  Irish  city,  save  only  Dublin. 
It  likewise  embraces  a  larger  Knglish  and  F'rench  population 
than  is  generally  supposed.  There  is  also  a  eonaidernble  pro- 
portion of  Italians,  Spaniards,  South  Americans,  etc.  New 
York  likewise  contains  a  very  largo  and  constantly  increasing 
number  of  Jews,  as  well  as  their  inveterate  enemies,  the  Rus- 
sians, and  tho  sworn  foes  of  these  latter,  the  Poles.  Greeks, 
Turks,  Portuguese,  Swedes,  Scotch,  Chinese,  etc.,  every 
nationality  under  the  blue  canopy  of  the  infinite,  are  to  bo 
found.  Sometimes  tho  different  nationalities  are  inextricably 
blended,  and  sometimes  they  are  herded  togetiier  in  their  own 
quarters. 

Thus  there  are  certain  sections  of  the  city  which  are  as 
listinctively  Irish  as  any  part  of  Ireland  itself:  thore  are  other 
sections  where  the  German  language  is  spoken  exclusively. 
A  story  is  told  of  a  well-known  journalist  of  this  city,  —  the 
late  Isaac  C.  Pray,  —  who,  in  a  fit  of  absent-minded'  ss,  one 
afternoon  took  the  wrong  car  from  "  The  Daily-News  "  office, 
nnd,  at  last,  awaking  from  his  day-dream,  and  not  recognizing 
his  localities,  left  the  car.  Every  thing  to  him,  altluuigh  he 
was  an  old  New-Yorker,  was  new ;  nothing  was  familiar ;  the 
signs  over  the  stores  were  either  in  Hebrew  or  in  German ; 
the  people  he  met  had  all  a  foreign  look ;  their  manners  and 
customs  were  strange  ;  and,  when  he  asked  for  information  as 
to  his  whereabouts,  he  could  find  no  one  to  afford  him  the 
desired  knowledge.  He  was  ignorant  of  the  language  of  the 
people  amongst  whom  he  found  himself:  they  were  ignorant  of 


96  A  NEW-TORKER  LOST  IN  NEW  YORK. 

his  language.  He  was  absolutely  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land ; 
he  was  actually  a  New-Yorker  lost  in  New  York.  He  wan- 
dered about  for  some  time  before  he  was  able  to  discover  that 
he  had  been  conveyed  by  the  car  into  the  heart  of  the  great 
East  Side,  —  along  Avenues  A  and  B,  —  in  the  midst  of  the 
"  Germany  "  of  New  York. 

Then,  there  is  the  distinctively  and  exclusively  Hebrew 
quarter  of  New  York,  where  all  the  ordinances  of  Moses  are  as 
strictly  observed  as  they  were  in  Palestine  three  thousand  years 
ago ;  and  there  is  the  distinctively  and  exclusively  Chinese 
quarter,  with  its  joss-houses  and  its  opium-dens. 

And  yet,  after  all,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  an  American  New 
York,  though  satirists  have  occasionally  asserted  otherwise. 
With  all  its  cosmopolite  character.  New  York  is  still — and  let 
us  devoutly  trust  it  always  will  be  —  a  truly,  thoroughly 
American  city.  The  native  New- York  element  to-day  is  con- 
siderable in  numbers,  paramount  in  wealth,  and  supreme  in 
influence  and  importance.  Let  not  Americans  mistake  this, 
for  it  is  the  truth ;  and  it  is  a  truth  which  should  lead  them, 
like  the  warrior  of  old,  "to  thank  God,  and  to  take  courage." 

Another  great  feature  of  New  York  is  the  immense  value 
of  its  land,  its  real  estate.  This  feature,  while  it  enables  the 
few  to  live  in  princely  luxury,  compels  the  majority  of  New- 
Yorkers,  especially  the  poorer  classes,  to  live  herded  together 
in  discomfort.  Perhaps  the  poor  of  New  York  are  the  poorest 
people  in  the  civilized  world,  as  will  be  shown  when  I  come  to 
glance  at  the  tenement-house  population. 

A  third  great  feature  of  New- York  life  is  its  inevitable  ten- 
dency to  render  the  New-Yorker  alike  self-reliant  and  humble. 
I  know  that  New-Yorkers  are  sometimes  said  to  be  "  con- 
ceited ; "  and  so  they  are,  but  not  of  their  individual  selves, 
but  of  their  city.  No  man  can  live  in  New  York  for  years  and 
have  much  individual  conceit..  New-York  life  "knocks  it  all 


WHAT  NEW  YOItK  CLARES  FOR.  97 

out "  of  liim.  No  matter  how  smart  and  how  rich  he  may  be,  ho 
meets  every  day  people  who  are  smarter  and  richer.  The  man 
who,  in  a  smaller  town,  with  liis  one  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
would  be  viiiu  of  his  wealth,  meets  in  New  York  a  dozen  mil- 
lionnaires  a  day ;  and  that  makes  him  feel  himself  a  compara- 
tively poor  man.  The  lawyer  who  has  fame  rubs  against  a 
dozen  lawyers  who  are  far  more  famous ;  and  so  the  lesson  of 
humility  is  taught,  as  well  as  the  lesson  of  self-reliance.  For 
of  all  places  in  tlie  world,  the  homely  adage  is  most  applicable 
to  New  York,  that  "every  tub  must  stand  on  its  own  bottom."' 
In  the  great  America"  metropolis  a  man  is  gauged  by  himself, 
not  by  his  ancestors  nor  their  achievements.  No  one  cares 
much  for  the  post:  that  is  "ancient  history."  Nor  is  much 
regard  paid  to  a  possible  though  distant  future:  that  is  "im- 
agination." What  New  York  cares  for  is  the  present.  What 
the  man  or  woman  is,  or  is  doing,  or  is  capable  of  doing  to-day,  — 
that  is  New- York's  idea  of  reality ;  and  New  York  is  right. 
What  says  the  poet  in  his  "  Psalm  of  Life  "  ? 

"  Tnist  no  future,  howe'er  pleasant ; 
Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead ; 
Act,  act  in  the  living  present, 
Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead." 

Still  another  characteristic,  and  the  most  dramatic  of  all 
the  characteristics  of  New  York,  is  its  contrasts,  its  ertremes. 
New  York  is,  par  excellence,  the  city  of  extremes  and  con- 
trasts. It  is  at  once  the  very  worst  and  the  very  best  of  all 
American  cities,  alike  the  very  darkest  and  the  very  brightest. 
It  is  the  city  of  crimes  and  the  city  of  charities,  the  city  of 
infidelity  and  irreligion,  the  city  of  the  Sunday-school  and 
the  church,  the  city  of  the  public  rum-shop,  and  the  city  of  the 
public  school. 

It  has  been  the  misfortune  of  New  York,  that  its  newspapers 


98  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  NEW  YORK. 

find  it  to  their  pecuniary  interest  to  dwell  more  upon  the  evil 
than  the  good  in  it ;  to  devote  more  space  to  the  sensational, 
dark  side  of  city-life,  than  to  the  unsensational,  steadily 
shining  bright  side  thereof ;  but  both  sides,  nevertheless,  exist 
side  by  side. 

The  contrasts  of  New  York  are  perhaps  in  no  instances 
more  forcibly  presented  than  in  its  three  great  thoroughfares, 
—  Broadway,  the  Bowery,  and  Fifth  Avenue.  These  world- 
famous  streets  are  New  York  in  miniature,  if  the  term  "  minia- 
ture "  can  be  applied  to  miles  of  houses,  and  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  human  beings. 

Broadway  is  the  finest  street  on  the  American  continent;. 
Beginning  at  the  Battery,  it  extends  through  banks,  stores, 
hotels,  churches,  public  buildings,  till  it,  as  it  were,  loses  itself, 
and  diet-'  of  its  own  length,  among  the  boulevards.  It  is  trav- 
ersed along  the  lower  portion  by  omnibuses,  and  along  the 
upper  portion  by  the  street-cars.  It  is  the  favorite  promenade 
for  business  or  pleasure :  it  is  the  exercise-ground  of  the  down- 
town merchant  or  broker,  the  shopping-ground  of  the  up-town 
belle,  the  street  for  adventurers.  A  history  of  Broadway 
would  be  a  history  alike  of  New  York  and  of  human  nature. 
It  is  the  thoroughfare  of  average  New  York,  of  miscellaneous 
metropolitan  humanity. 

Fifth  Avenue  is  the  most  fashionable  street  in  America,  an 
avenue  which  is  lined  (from  Washington  Square  to  Central 
Park)  with  palaces.  From  the  substantial  residence  of  Ex- 
Mayor  Cooper  at  one  end,  to  the  superb  Vanderbilt  mansions 
at  the  other,  Fifth  Avenue  is  a  boulevard  of  brown  stone.  It 
comprises  and  represents  more  wealth  than  any  other  one  street 
in  the  whole  world.  Three  hundred  millions  of  money  are 
represented  in  two  short  blocks  of  this  celebrated  street. 
And  all  the  leading  clubs  of  New  York  —  the  IManhattan  (the 
controlling  Democratic  club),  the  Union  League  (the   repre- 


BROADWAY,   "THE  AVENUE,"  AND   THE  BOlVEliY.     99 

sentative  Republican  organization),  the  Union  Club  (the  nmn- 
about-town  and  society  club)  —  have  their  buildings  fronting 
on  this  wonderful  thoroughfare.  The  most  fashionable  hotels 
and  churches  are  likewise  located  here  ;  and  Belmont,  A.  T. 
Stewart,  Astor,  Jay  Gould,  and  other  world-famous  names,  are 
literally  household  words.  A  million  of  dollars  has  been  ex- 
pended on  several  single  residences  on  Fifth  Avenue ;  and  the 
finest  picture-galleries  in  the  New  World  are  here,  attached 
to  the  palaces  of  Vanderbilt,  Stewart,  Belmont,  Marshall 
0.  Roberts,  and  others- 
One  of  the  vilest  dens  in  the  world  also  stood  upon  Fifth 
Avenue  till  lately.  In  fact,  it  still  stands  there,  thougli  de- 
voted to  other  uses.  I  allude  to  the  magnificent  mansion  of 
the  abortionist  Restell,  which  lies  within  tlie  very  shadow 
of  the  magnificent  cathedral,  and  directly  opposite  to  tlie 
Vanderbilt  palaces. 

Tli£re  are  gaming-dens  also  on  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and  houses 
of  splendid  infamy ;  and  some  of  the  most  unscrupulous  ras- 
cals that  ever  escaped  State  prison  reside  here  in  state ;  but, 
taken  as  a  rule,  a  house  on  Fifth  Avenue  symbolizes  legitimate 
worldly  success. 

As  for  the  Bowery,  it  is  decidedly  the  mOst  picturesquely 
miscellaneous  street  in  the  city  or  the  country.  To  the  lover 
of  human  nature,  and  to  the  student  thereof,  it  is  by  far  the 
most  interesting  thoroughfare  in  New  York.  Beginning  from 
Chatham  Street,  the  favored  locality  of  the  dealers  in  "old 
clo\"  it  passes  along  museums  (some  genuine,  and  more  bogus), 
concert  saloons  (a  few  attractive,  and  all  vile),  German  beer- 
gardens  (some  of  them  mammoth  establishments,  where  well- 
selected  orchestras  perform),  mock-auction  shops  (less  common 
now  than  formerly),  pawnbroking  shops  (constantl}'^  increas- 
ing, constantly  thronged,  and  many  of  them  merely  receptacles 
for  stolen  goods),  cheap-jewellery  stores,  mammoth  tailor  stores, 


100  "  WAITING   TILL   TUB  CROWDS  ROLL  BY." 

cheap  dry-goods  stores,  cheap  millinery  establishments  (where 
ladies  often  purchase  for  five  dollars  what  they  tell  their  friends 
afterwards  they  paid  fifteen  for  on  Broadway),  "  flash  "  restau- 
rants," "all-night"  dives,  countless  "saloons,"  "cigar  fronts" 
(which  are  simply  lottery-policy  shops  behind),  "  skin  "  gam- 
bling-houses, dance-houses,  all  sorts  of  places,  till  at  last,  after 
winding  and  enlarging,  it  contracts  again,  and  terminates  in 
the  almost  interminable  Third  Avenue. 

Such  are  the  three  characteristic  streets  or  thoroughfares  of 
New  York  ;  and  as  such  they  are  crowded,  —  Fifth  Avenue  on 
Sunday  mornings  and  afternoons,  and  on  fine  afternoons  and 
mornings  generally;  Broadway,  from  morning  till  midnight; 
and  the  Bowery,  all  the  time. 

After  all,  and  before  all,  it  is  this  ceaseless  crowding  of  the 
streets  of  New  York  which  is  New  York's  most  expressive 
feature.  A  countryman  once  stood  patiently  waiting,  in  front 
of  the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel,  as  the  multitudes  passed  along. 
After  some  fifteen  minutes  or  so,  a  friend  asked  the  gentleman 
from  the  rural  districts  what  he  was  waiting  for.  "For  the 
crowd  to  get  by,"  he  replied.  Dear,  good  old  man,  he  fancied 
that  there  must  be  some  unusual  temporary  excitement  in  the 
street  at  that  time,  which  would  soon  subside.  He  did  not  yet 
know  that  this  crotvd  was  chronic. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  PEN-PANORAMA  OF  NEW  YOIIK.  —  TUK  POOH  OF  THE  QKEAT  METROPOLIS. 
—  CASTLE  GARDEN  AND  TUE  EMIGRANTS.  —  "  LES  MISfiRADLES."  —  "  OLD 
MOTHER  hurley's." — TUE  DLACK  UEN'S. — THE  BLACK  HOLE  OF  CHERRY 
STREET. — THE  MYSTERIES  OF  DONOVAN'S  LANE. — TENEMENT-HOUSE  LIFE 
AND  "rotten  ROW." — TUE  BUMMER  POOH. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  places  in  New  York  is  really 
Castle  Garden.  Formerly  this  was  the  resort  of  fashionable  and 
pleasure-seeking  New  York,  and  Jenny  Lind  and  Jullien  gave 
their  concerts  there.  Now  it  is  appropriated,  or  abandoned  to 
the  emigrant,  and  is  the  first  place  he  or  she  sees  in  the  New 
World. 

Time  was  when  the  emigrant,  once  landed  in  Ncav  York, 
was  virtually  surrendered  :.,  prey  to  land-sharks  and  swindlers. 
But  now  the  emigrant  system  has  been  brought  to  a  state 
closely  approximating  perfection  ;  and  a  man  or  woman  can  be 
shipped  as  safely  from  Sweden  to  Minnesota,  passing  through 
New  York  in  transitu,  as  if  he  or  she  were  a  bale  of  goods  or 
a  package  per  express. 

In  fact,  more  care  is  taken  of  the  emigrant,  who  merely 
passes  through  New  York,  than  of  the  poor  man  or  woman 
who  settles  down  in  the  midst  of  the  metropolis.  Would  the 
reader  really  form  an  idea  of  how  some  of  the  very  poor  in 
New  York  "live,"  —  if  I  am  allowed  to  use  the  word  "live" 
in  such  connection, — let  him  read  the  following  truthful  sketch, 
which  appeared  in  the  columns  of  "The  New- York  Sunday 
Dispatch,"  written  by  a  journalist  who  saw  all  the  horrors  he 
so  vividly  describes.  •  >,     ..<  -^         .        .  •       *  ..   •,, 


102  PICTURES  OF  POVERTY. 

"  LES    MIS^RABLES." 

There  is  a  house,  or  structure,  in  New  York,  known  by  its  number 
and  street  as  "Cherry."  The  first  door  thereof  is  known  by  tlie 
appelhition  of  the  woman  who  rents  it,  as  "Old  Mother  Hurley's." 
This  first  floor  is  inhabited  by  human  beings,  such  as  they  are ;  and 
this  is  the  way  in  which  these  human  beings,  or 

"the  II0NE3T   POOK," 

"  live  "  at  "  Mother  Hurley's." 

The  surrounding  neighborhood  is  filthy,  and  the  exterior  of  the 
building  is  barn-like  and  disgusting.  Opening  the  rickety  door,  an 
indescribable  odor  overpowers  your  nostrils ;  and  unless  you  are 
accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing,  —  unless  you  are  a  journalist  or  a 
policeman, — you  instinctively  put  your  fingers  around  your  nose, 
close  them,  and  keep  them  closed.  The  odor  arises,  as  you  will  see 
presently,  from  decaying  and  rotten  meat  and  vegetables,  from 
human  breaths,  and  foul  linen,  and  human  sores,  and  imperfect 
ventilation,  and  human  filth,  and  stagnant  water,  mingled  together 
into  a  villanous  compound,  for  which  the  expressive  Saxon  has  no 
fitting  name.  Having  exercised  the  power  of  smell  sufficiently,  and 
using  your  power  of  sight,  you  look  around  and  see,  by  an  unsnuflfed 
tallow  candle  burning  on  a  three-legged  greasy  table,  leaning  against 
a  bare,  paperless,  cracked,  tumble-down  wall,  a  lot  of  soiled,  stainetl, 
stinking  linen  and  straw  lying  in  a  disordered  mixture  on  the  top  of 
an  old  mattress,  which  was  washed  ashore  originally  from  a  yellow- 
fever  ship  down  near  quarantine;  t'lf  whole  "combination"  being 
supported  on  a  low  truckle-bed,  and  affording  a  place  of  rest  such 
as  no  respectable  family,  not  even  a  first-class  Broadway  hotel,  would 
insult  a  dog  with,  and  yet  which  forms  the  "post  of  honor"  and 
chief  luxury  of  "Mother  Hurley's."  For  this  bed  the  landlady 
charges  extra ;  and  it  is  sometimes  occupied  by  as  many  as  three 
people  at  a  time,  who  divide  the  honors  and  the  filth. 

At  the  foot  of  this  bed,  on  the  night  of  our  visit,  there  lay  on  the 
dirty  boards,  without  any  pretence  of  a  bed  at  all,  a  bundle  of  straw, 


MOTHER  UURLEY.  103 

on  which  an  old  woman  about  aeventy  years  of  age  was  lying,  with- 
out any  covering  whatever.  The  old  woman  was  a  hag,  indescribably 
dark  and  indescribably  dirty,  blear-eyed,  rheumatic,  almost  putrid, 
lying  down  with  all  her  rags  on,  and  vainly  trying  to  sleep. 

Near  this  creature  was  a  small  stove,  with  the  least  bit  in  the 
world  of  a  fire  ;  and  opposite  her  was  an  attempt  at  a  bar  and  grocery- 
store  combined,  where  Mother  Hurley  dispensed  rum  at  three  cents 
a  glass,  or  eggs  at  five  cents  apiece.  She  evidently  valued  her  eggs 
at  a  much  higher  rate  than  her  rum  ;  and  lest  her  hungry  lodgers 
might  some  day,  in  a  fit  of  stomachic  despair,  kill  her  hen,  and  make 
a  meal  of  it,  she  kept  the  fowl  under  lock  and  key,  in  a  sort  of  coop 
directly  adjoining  the  bar,  where  she  could  always  keep  her  eye  on  it. 
To  our  notion,  we  bad  rather  been  the  ben  at  Mother  Hurley's  thaji 
the  humanitj'. 

God  knows  the  front  part  of  this  first  floor,  containing  what  we 
have  already  described,  was  bad  enough  ;  but  the  front  part  was  para- 
dise itself  to  the  scene  disclosed  in  the  middle  portion  of  the  lodging- 
den.  Here  there  was  no  light  at  all,  save  by  the  "  darkness  visible  " 
from  the  candle  already  mentioned  ;  there  was  no  attempt  at  ventila- 
tion from  front  or  rear ;  there  was  no  carpet ;  there  was  no  floor, 
except  a  few  boards  laid  here  and  there  over  the  ground  at  intervals  ; 
there  were  no  beds,  save  only  a  row  of  shelves  made  of  unplaued 
boards  ranged  along  the  cracking,  moulding,  damp  walls  ;  there  was 
no  linen,  save  a  few  foul  rags  ;  there  was  no  bedding,  save  here  and 
there  a  handful  of  shavings  or  straw  ;  there  were  no  windows  ;  there 
was  no  furniture,  save  a  backless  chair,  with  some  rotten  fish  scat- 
tered disgustingly  over  it ;  there  was  nothing  but  filth  and  foulness, 
and  closeness  and  heat,  and  discomfort  and  bareness  and  horror ;  and 
yet  in  this  "  middle  passage,"  this 

BLACK   HOLE   OF   CHERRY   STREET, 

there  were,  on  the  night  of  our  visit,  twelve  human  beings,  —  five 
men,  four  women,  and  three  children,  —  huddled  together  in  rags  and 
misery  in  a  space  not  fit  for  one  well  dog. 

The  children  were  two  little  girls  and  a  boy  ;  the  little  girls  being 


104  "yOTUING   TO  WEAS." 

literally  stark  naked,  and  lying  on  each  side  of  the  little  boy,  who  had 
a  man's  old,  torn,  and  stained  flannel  shirt  on.  The  l)oy  had  a  stu]>id, 
startled  look,  and  moved  uneasily  in  his  slumbers ;  but  the  little 
girls  stared  at  us  with  all  their  eyes,  —  and  fine  eyes  they  were. 
Their  mother,  an  old  woman  who  was  lying  on  a  board  beneath  the 
shelf  on  which  lay  her  children,  and  who.  though  ragged  and  shoe- 
less, was  not  dirty,  and  seemed  quite  a  decent  sort  of  i»or8on,  told  us 
simply  enough,  in  the  nnvarnished  language  of  the  utterly  wretched, 
that  she  "  did  not  have  luck  enough  lately  to  earn  or  beg  clothes  for 
her  girls,  and  so  she  had  to  let  them  go  naked  all  day  long,  and  stay 
in  bed  until  she  could  get  some  rags  for  them."  Here,  indeed,  were 
females  who  had  "nothing  to  wear,"  —  young  females,  very  young 
females,  who  had  to  stay  in  a  pest-bole,  hungry  and  dirty  and  stark 
naked,  all  day  long,  —  not  because  their  mother  was  lazy,  for  the 
policeman  told  us  she  was  an  industrious  woman  when  she  had  a  chance 
to  work ;  not  because  she  drank,  for  she  never  touched  a  drop ;  not 
because  she  was  immoral,  —  but  because  she  was  unfortunate,  l)ecause 
she  was  poor.  And  yet  there  are  churches  and  missions  and  dry- 
goods  palaces  in  this  Christian  city.     Of  course,  there  was 

NOT  THE   SLIGHTEST   PRETENCE   AT   DECENCY, 

let  alone  delicacy,  among  the  men  and  women  congregated  in  this 
black  hole,  where  the  sexes  are  huddled  together  in  dark  dens  like 
this.  Men  and  women  are  like  Adam  and  Eve  in  paradise,  in  this 
one  respect,  at  least,  —  they  are  not  ashamed  of  their  nakedness,  nor 
of  any  thing  else.  A  number  of  dirty  and  party-colored  cloths  and 
towels,  suspended  from  a  string  in  front  of  the  shelves,  were  the  only 
concealments  attempted  :  and  what  undressing,  or,  rather,  unragging, 
was  done,  was  done  full  in  sight  of  all  the  other  denizens  of  the 
den,  big  or  little,  male  or  female,  white  or  black  ;  for  not  only  were 
both  sexes,  but  all  colors,  on  a  free  equality  of  filth  at  Mother 
Hurley's. 

But  "on  horror's  head,  horrors  accumulate:"  and,  terrible  as 
was  this  "middle  passage"  of  Mother  Hurley's  den,  there  was  a 
more  terrible  place  still ;  and  that  was  the  rear  portion  of  it.     We 


A  POOR  DEVIL  OF  A   WOMAN.  105 

could  not  believe,  at  first,  tboro  was  a  rear  to  such  a  hell  as  this  ;  we 
thought  that  we  litul  rcaehetl  the  end  and  tlie  worst ;  but  tlie  i)olice- 
nmn  who  accoinpiuiied  us  —  John  Musgrave,  detailed  to  boar  escort 
by  Cai)t.  Ulluiuu  and  Sergt.  Thompson  of  the  Fourth  I'reciuct  — 
showed  us  our  mistake  ;  for  he  led  the  way,  tumbliug  over  old  bar- 
rels and  broken  crockei-y  and  dung-heaps  —  literally  dung-heaps  — 
in  the  dark,  till  we  came  to  an  open  space,  a  back-yard  roofed  over, 
and  terminated  by  a  dead  wall,  — a  back -yard,  too,  full  of  all  nianuer 
of  foulness,  garbage,  and  abomination ;  a  back-yard  full  >f  dirty 
water  oozing  from  the  ground ;  a  back-yard  literally  piled  with 
human  excrement ;  a  back-yard  without  any  windows  or  doors,  or 
fresh  air  or  light,  save  fiom  a  piece  of  tallow  candle,  and  yet  a  back- 
yard with  nine  beds,  or  boards,  with  straw  and  soiled  rags  on  them, 
and  ten  people,  —  men,  women,  and  children,  — supposed  to  sleep  on 
said  beds,  or  boards,  in  this  indescribably  liorriMe  back-yard. 

In  the  centre  of  this  back-yard  stood  a  table,  at  which,  on  a 
stool,  sat  a  man,  who,  with  filthy  hands  and  a  ravenous  appetite,  ate 
a  piece  of  raw,  rotten  fish  —  absolutely  raw  and  absolutely  rotten  — 
with  relish.  Ay ;  and  he  told  us,  and  made  no  secret  of  it,  that  he 
was  very  thankful  to  get  a  chance  to  eat  it.  He  had  picked  it  up, 
and,  having  had  nothing  else  to  eat,  made  the  most  he  could  out  of  it. 

Think  of  this,  ye  diners  at  Delmonico's,  and  midnight  l)anqueters 
at  the  Maison  Dorfie !  a  man,  and  not  a  bad  man  either,  nor  a 
fool,  —  for  Musgrave  told  us  that  his  character  was  good,  and  his  lan- 
guage was  well  chosen,  —  thankful,  in  this  enterprising  city,  for  being 
able  to  pick  up  some  raw  and  rotten  fish  for  his  mid'iight  supper,  and 
his  only  meal  in  twenty  hours !  But  we  saw,  ere  we  quitted  this 
back-yard, 

A  SADDER  SIGHT 

than  even  this  poor  devil  of  a  man  ;  i.e.,  a  poor  devil  of  a  consump- 
tive woman,  who  had  once  been  pretty  (for  hunger  and  care,  and  sick- 
ness and  sorrow,  had  not  rendered  her  hideous  yet) ,  —  a  poor  devil 
of  a  woman,  who,  though  herself  still  virtuous,  still  unmarried,  was 
compelled  to  sleep  in  the  next  bed,  or  the  next  board,  to  a  man. 


106  CONGRATULATING  A   BABY  ON  DYING. 

whose  head  lay  among  the  rags ;  while  riglit  at  the  licail  of  her  liod, 
or  board,  was  a  oesHpool,  emitting  tlie  vileat  of  all  poHHilily  inhalablo 
8teuehc9 ;  wiiile  the  walls  around  her  oozed  damp  and  fllth  iu  equal 
proportions.  Does  Dante's  ''Inferno,"  or  the  veritable  infernal 
regions  tliemselves,  contain  aught  more  terribly,  truly  repulsive  than 
this?  And  yet  this  is  what  we  saw  or  peered  at  iu  the  damp  and 
darkness  that  night  at  IVIother  Hurley's. 

We  also  saw  in  this  back-yard  den  a  brokcn-hcart'd  mother 
crying  over  her  dying  bal)y,  who  had  caught  cold  from  hleeping  iu 
such  a  damp  place  as  this,  and  was  fast  coughing  its  little  self  to 
death.  AVe  could  not  help  inwardly  congratulating  the  baby ;  but 
neither  could  we  help  sympathizing  with  the  poor  woman,  who  hung 
fondly  over  her  suffering  infant,  calling  it  every  pet  name  that  a 
mother's,  and  au  Irish  mother's,  affection  could  suggest.  But  long 
experience  in  scenes  of  misery  had  rendered  her  companions  callous, 
and  the  peoi)le  around  her  cared  no  more  for  a  dying  baby  than  they 
would  have  cared  for  a  living  one. 

Now,  the  majority  of  people  in  this  lodging-den  this  night  were 
not  rouglis  or  reprobates.  They  were  as  decent  as  such  horribly 
impecunious  people  could  be.  They  were  only  poor,  poorer,  poorest; 
and  for  their  poverty  they  were  punished  as  no  criminals  were  ever 
punished  ui  Sing  Sing.  For  their  poverty  they  were  treated  as  no 
dogs  are  treated  ;  for  their  poverty  they  were  compelled  to  go  naked, 
to  eat  raw  and  rotten  fish,  and  to  sleep  in  defiance  of  decency,  and 
in  proximity  to  cesspools.  And  yet  people  tell  us  that  iwverty  is  no 
crime,  and  talk  of  honest  poverty.  How  in  God's  name  can  poverty, 
such  as  this,  be  honest?    But,  if  you  wish  to  see  how 

THE  CRIMINAL   POOR 

live  and  move  and  have  their  being,  go  to  No.  "Water  Street, 

where  there  is  a  basement  "den  "  kept  by  a  woman  who  has  been 
on  "The  Island,"  and  whose  "husbands"  have  all  been  to  State 
prison,  and  who  is  called,  from  her  dark  hair,  "The  Black  Hen." 
Here,  ui  a  close,  stifling  little  room,  carpetless,  cheerless  beyond 
words,  on  the  night  of  our  visit,  was  a  broken-down  sofa  with  two 


BTLKEIi'S  HALL.  107 

hags  on  it ;  nnd  on  the  other  side  was  a  bench  with  four  other  haga  on 
it,  witli  one  img  squatted  on  the  Hoor ;  caeli  of  the  Heven  women 
being  ugly,  eoai'He,  ami  foui,  —  uglier,  coarser,  fouler  thau  can  bo 
reailily  eoneeiveil  of  until  seen. 

Bacit  of  this  "reception-room"  —  Flcaven  gave  tlie  marlt!  —  ex- 
tends a  series  of  daric,  dismal,  dirty  l)oxe8,  in  which  all  species  of 
depravity  and  robbei-y  were  practised  as  a  business  ;  while  in  tlie  rear 
of  these  "  Imjxcs  "  was  a  big  bed,  or  mattress,  stretched  on  the  tloor, 
—  foul  beyond  the  power  of  the  English  language  to  express,  —  ou 
which  the  wantons  slept  after  their  sins  ;  while  adjoining  the  bed  was 
a  cooking-stove,  —  the  rear  ai)artnient  serving  alike  as  kitchen,  bed- 
room, and  dining-room, — the  wantons  and  their  mistress  eating  their 
garbage  on  the  floor  ;  while,  according  to  the  eternal  fitness  of  things, 
the  master  of  the  den,  and  tlie  present  husband  of  its  mistress, 
served  as  cook  for  what  infernal  cooking  there  was  to  do. 

But,  vile  as  the  den  of 

"the  black  hen" 

might  be,  there  was  a  hell  on  earth,  filthier  and  viler  and  more 

wretched  still,  in  a  basement,  directly  across  the  street,  at  No. 

Water  Street,  known,  in  the  expressive  slang  of  the  district,  as  "  IJilk- 
er's  Hall."  This  place  is  kept  by  a  Kitty  de  Fish,  alias  (everybody 
has  an  alias  in  those  parts)  Annie  Winkle,  who  is  "  voniau  of  vio- 
lent temper,  as  was  proved  by  the  spectacle  presented  on  tlie  occasion 
of  our  visit  by  one  of  her  "  girls,"  an  old  woman  nearly  seventy  years 
of  age,  whose  right  eye,  already  nearly  half  eaten  out  of  the  eye-ball 
by  secret  disease,  —  which  was  very  public  indeed, —  was  likewise  cut, 
torn,  and  disfigured  by  a  plate  thrown  at  her  by  the  proprietress  of 
the  den.  If  on  the  face  of  the  earth  there  was  a  fouler  or  more  dis- 
gustingly wretched  being  than  this  old,  battered  harridan,  then  the 
face  of  the  earth  deserves  to  be  pitied ;  and,  as  for  the  place  itself, 
there  was  nothing  viler  in  the  world,  for  the  simple  reason  there 
could  be  nothing  viler.  The  front  of  the  basement  contained  a  pre- 
tence of  a  "  l>ar,"  with  a  few  glasses  that  had  not  been  washed  since 
they  were  originally  stolen,  and  a  few  bottles  of  adulterated  liquors 


108  FOURTfl-WARD   MISERY. 

of  the  ohonppRt  and  tho  nnstioHt  (U>scription,  niul  with  a  few  stalo 
QfH»,  and  Htiilcr  oyHtcrH.  IJcliiiid  llii8  "  luir  "  Htood  a  nij:>j;od,  Hullen, 
blear-eyt'd  thief,  ti»e  "  man  "  of  tho  "woman"  of  thi"  i>lat'i',  who, 
when  not  drunk,  or  getting  otlicrs  drunk  on  his  villanouH  swill, 
played  tho  rM<' of  "a  badger,"  and  -'went  thiinigh  the  fiotiies  "  of 
hlH  un8iia|)c<;ting  and  intoxieated  victims,  robbing  tlicm  of  wliatover 
moneys  tlu'ir  poekets  niiglit  contain.  Hack  of  tiiis  bar,  to  the  roar 
of  tlie  basement,  directly  beiiinil  tlie  only  sofa  of  the  place,  extended  tx 

LIQUID   PANDKHONIUM. 

The  words  are  used  advisedly,  for  it  was  a  "  pandemonium,"  and  it 
was  "  li(pii(l ;  "  being  composed  of  four  or  five  tumble-down  stalls, 
worse  tiian  any  pig-pen  ever  seen,  in  which  "stalls"  there  were 
bundles  of  straw  and  old  mattresses  stretched  out  upon  the  earth, 
and  which  oozed  out  slitne  and  filth,  and  were  dami),  and  stunk  abomi- 
nably ;  while  the  walls  were  crumbled  and  mouldy,  and  gave  forth 
filth  from  a  neigiilwrinf.;  cessi^ool.  It  was  a  sight  and  a  smell 
Butllcient  to  strike  terror  to  any  nose  and  eye,  and  heart  and  soul ; 
even  the  policeman  had  enough  of  it  in  five  minutes,  and  left  the  hell- 
hole with  unusual  rapidity.  And  yet  it  was  the  scene  of  the  "  sinful 
pleasures  "  (!)  and  the  "home,  sweet  home"  of  six  or  seven 
females  and  one  man. 

But  time  would  fail  did  we  attempt  to  dc8oril)e  one-half  of  all  the 
misery  that  is  to  be  seen  among  the  poor,  good  and  bad,  of  the 
Fourth  Ward.  Although  this  district  is  not  now  what  it  used  to  be ; 
though  Kit  Burns  and  John  Allen  are  dead ;  though  many  of  "the 
basements  ' '  have  been  closed ;  and  though  many  a  den  of  thieves 
have,  through  business  and  industry,  been  converted  into  hives  of 
labor,  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  commerce  of  New  York  having 
declined,  the  sailors  no  longer  congregate  in  such  ungodly  quantities 
as  in  times  past ;  though  the  police  have  done  their  duty,  and 
thereby  diminished  misery  and  crime  within  the  district, — yet  still. 
Heaven  knows,  the  place  is  unutterably  horrible,  viewed  from  a 
humanitarian  point. 

While  such  "  dens  "  as  the  "  velvet  room  "  (so  called  because  no 


TlfE  HEATHEN  CHINEE.  109 

vplvct  wi\B  over  Bccn  witliin  it,  iiotliiiijj;  luit  rugs  nnd  Bnw<hiHt),  nt 
tlic  conuT  of  KoHC'Vi'lt  uiul  WuUt  Streets,  wliero  men  uiid  Wdineii 
uiglitly  get  (iniiik  toj^etlier,  drinking  vilu  liquoi-  from  liie  Itung-holert 
of  ImiTels,  nnd  then  lying  down  senHuieHS  on  top  of  tlu;  hanvU ; 
and  the  diHtillerieB  of  Flannigiin  and  Ilninigiin  in  .luinoH  Street  und 
Cherry  Street,  —  nre  iimong  tiio  nioHt  demoralizing  JuumtH  of  degraded 
iiunuiuity  iiiK)n  the  top  of  tiie  earth,  there  is  not  in  tlie  city  of  New 
York,  nor  llie  city  of  London,  nor  the  eity  of  Paris,  nor  any  other 
city  in  Christiiin  hinds,  or  iieatii<'n,  a  viler,  fonler,  more  repulsive, 
more  wretched,  more  God-forsaken  hole,  tlian  what  is  known  us 

Donovan's  lane. 

The  majority  of  our  readers  have,  doubtless,  never  hoard  of  this 
locality,  nnd  they  shouhl  tiiank  Providence  for  their  ignorance ;  and 
yet  within  its  limits  are  two  most  striking  eom|)anion  examples  of 
poor  life  among  the  professedly  pagans,  and  the,  by  courtesy,  Chris- 
tians, of  New  York. 

THE  "heathen"  poor. 

Donovan's  Lane  l>egins  with  a  Chinese  opium-den  of  the  lowest 
class,  nnd  terminates  with  an  Irish  shanty.  It  runs  from  liaxter 
Street  to  Pearl  Street,  nnd  is  soon  to  \)C  closed,  thanks  be  to  God, 
Cnpt.  Kennedy,  nnd  the  street-conimisKioner.  There  are  two  opium- 
dons  witliin  its  limits.  The  larger  one  fronts  on  IJaxter  Street,  and 
comprises  a  Chinese  club-room  and  temple  combined,  wiiere  the  celes- 
tials play  cards,  drink  ten,  and  worship  their  gods  ;  while  to  the  rear 
is  a  room  about  twelve  feet  by  ten,  carpetless,  chairless,  pictureless, 
cheerless,  full  of  bunks  or  lioards,  full  of  dirty  linen,  which  serve  as 
the  l)eds  for  some  dozen  Chiniimen  cooks,  stewards,  cigar-sellers, 
etc.,  honest  people  enough,  but  oh,  so  very  poor  !  living  together  like 
pigs  in  a  pen,  in  a  stifling  atmosphere,  without  the  slightest  pretence 
to  comfort  or  decency.  On  the  top  bunk  lay  stretched  out,  when  we 
visited  the  place,  a  dying  Chinaman,  who  was  sinking  with  a  low 
fever;  while  in  the  lower  bunks  lay,  in  their  dirty  linen,  three  or  four 
Chiuamen,  huddled  together  iu  a  space  hardly  big  enough,  and  cer- 


110  DONOVAN'S  LANE. 

toinly  not  clean  enough,  for  a  pet  poodle,  and  smoking  themselves 
into  an  opium  stupor. 

But  this  place  was  a  palace  compared  with  another  opium-den,  to 
the  rear,  right  in  the  centre  of  Donovan's  Lane.  Here,  surrounded 
by  mud-heaps  and  pest-heaps,  and  breathing  in  the  foul  exhalations 
from  them,  and  from  the  poison  garbage  lying  all  around  them,  in  a 
room  small,  mean,  low  studded,  without  any  chairs  at  all,  only  the 
greasy  tables,  a  bunk  in  one  corner,  and  an  indescribably  lilthy  bed 
in  another  corner,  lay  sprawling  '^oiI'Q  ten  men,  emitting  smoke  from 
their  pipes,  and  filthy  stencu  f:um  themselves.  A  pot  full  of  filth 
was  in  the  ccnire  of  the  den,  rendering  the  air  still  fouler  ;  some  dirty 
linen  stunk  in  a  pile  just  beyond  it,  and  altogether  a  nastier  place 
could  not  be  conceived  of ;  and  yet  this  was  the  evening  haunt,  the 
bedroom,  the  breakfast-room,  the  home,  of  poor  wretches  of  pagans, 
who,  when  they  could  do  no  better,  the  impecunious  heathens,  as 
oflicer  Francis  Caddell  told  us,  had  been  known  to  kill  rats  which 
infested  their  den,  and  eat  them  for  want  of  any  other  food,  in  this 
most  charitable  (  ?)  city.     But  the  condition  of  the 

CHRISTIAN   rOOR, 

the  poor  who  were  not  heathens,  residing  in  Donovan's  Lane,  was 
worse  than  that  of  the  pagans  themselves.  Miscegenation  held  high 
carnival  in  Donovan's  Lane ;  black  men  and  white  women  cursed 
and  stunk  and  loafed  and  brawled  and  suffered  there ;  the  "  base- 
ments "  of  some  of  the  old  houses  in  the  lane  were  so  vile,  that  we 
approached  their  broken-down  doors  with  our  fingers  to  our  nostrils ; 
and  yet  they  swarmed  with  wretched  humanity  and  fat  vermin :  and, 
amid  all  the  other  odors,  that  of  the  stables  was  not  wanting;  for, 
toward  the  end  of  the  lane,  there  were  a  pair  of  cart-horses  kept, 
who  were  kept  much  more  comfortal>ly  than  any  of  the  human  beings, 
white  or  black,  little  or  big,  male  or  female.  Christian  or  heathen,  in 
Donovan's  Lane. 

This  is  how  the  wretchedly,  abominably  poor  "  live  "  in  the 
great  metropolis, — the  wretches  who  cannot  afford  to  rent 
rooms  or  exist  in  tenemeut-houses. 


TENEMENT-TIOUSE  LIFE.  Ill 

And  this  is  tlie  way  the  poor  live  who  can  "rtfFortl "  tenement- 
house  life.  This  description  is  taken  from  the  elaborate  expoaS 
of  tenement-house  life  which  appeared  originally  in  the  columns 
of  "  The  Sunday  Telegram : "  — 

No. Water  Street  is  ironically  called  "The  Gem,"  because 

in  all  respects  it  is  an  utterly  worthless  structure.  It  consists  of  a 
frarae-buikling  in  tlie  front  and  a  brick  buikliug  in  the  rear  ;  the  latter 
being  reached  l)y  an  alley-way,  full  of  filth,  worm-(.;iten,  full  of  holes, 
ricketty,  full  of  pitfalls  for  the  unwary.  The  yard  between  the  front 
and  rear  houses  is  very  small  and  very  foul,  offensive  with  garbage 
and  filth.  The  cellar  is  wet,  and  the  closets  are  simply  damnable. 
The  rear  house  is  vile  and  filthy  enough,  but  it  is  a  ve;y  palace  com- 
pared with  the  front  building.  Here  civilization  is;  on  a  par  with 
ventilation,  there  being  no  pretence  at  either. 

There  are  no  sinks  in  the  house ;  there  is  no  sewer  connection ; 
the  walls  look  as  if  they  had  never  known  of  whitewash ;  the  floors 
are  filthy ;  and,  of  course,  there  are  no  ventilation-pipes.  And  yet 
there  ought  to  be  lur  enough  through  the  house,  for  almost  every 
other  window-pane  in  it  is  broken.  The  front-hall  window  has  eight 
panes  broken  out  of  twelve. 

But  even  the  Ijitter  breath  of  winter  cannot  clean  this  Augean 
8tal)le  of  a  tenement,  for  the  smells  from  the  filthy  floors  and  the 
filthier  yard  raise  day  and  night  their  protest  against  the  carelessness 
of  agents  and  landlords. 

The  odor  of  decaying  garbage  mingles  with  the  odor  of  food 
(such  as  the  food  is),  and  the  odor  from  the  closets  mingles  with 
these  two  previously  mentioned  smells ;  the  three  forming  a  terrible 
perfume,  worthy  of  the  infernal  regions. 

And  this  trii)ly  foul  atmosphere  is  the  only  air  which  twenty-five 
children  and  young  people  of  both  sexes  breathe  this  blessed  holiday 
season.  In  the  second-story  rear  room  of  the  front  house  the 
"Telegram"  representative  found,  at  the  time  of  his  visit,  a  spec- 
tacle of  human  misery  to  which  he  is  wholly  unable  to  do  justice. 
Conceive  Meg  Merrilies  (as  played  by  Charlotte  Cushmau)  lying  in 


112  MEG  MEREILIES  IN  NEW  YORK. 

her  rags,  —  anil  ^ery  few  rags  at  that,  —  stretched  out  full  length 
upon  tlie  floo",  —  and  a  floor  full  of  holes,  without  any  carpet,  and 
black  with  dirt,  —  holding  upward  and  outward  her  skinny  arms  and 
long  hands  toward  the  merest  pretence  of  a  fire,  which  merely  illu- 
minated faintly,  but  did  not  warm  at  all.  Conceive,  if  you  can,  that 
this  Meg  Merrilies  has  not  been  able  to  move  for  several  weeks,  and 
that  she  has  no  bed  to  move  to  if  she  could  move  at  all.  Remember, 
that,  during  all  tlie  recent  cold  snap,  this  Meg  Merrilies  has  been  lying 
shivering  on  the  floor,  with  the  wind  howling  in  through  the  shutterless 
and  broken  window.  Above  all,  do  not  forget  that  this  Meg  Merrilies 
has  not  tasted  for  weeks  any  food  worth  mentioning,  save  some  soup 
a  poor  neighbor  brought  her,  and  of  which  her  cat  has  taken  the  major 
portion  ;  as  Tabby  is  strong,  and  the  old  woman  is  not.  To  this  add 
that  Meg  IMerrilies  has  a  bad  cough,  and  has  to  pay  four  dollars  a 
month  for  her  bare  walls  and  floor,  and  that  every  cent  given  her  by 
her  poor  neighbors  is  swallowed  up  for  this  rent.  Above  all,  bear  in 
mind  that  tliis  poor  creature  never  draws  a  pure  breath,  and  that  the 
only  air  whicii  reaches  her  is  the  horrible  atmosphere  already  men- 
tioned, flavored  with  the  odors  of  foul  food,  fouler  garbage,  and  the 
foulest  closets  in  the  city,  which  are  situate  directly  under  her  broken 
window.  Remember  all  this ;  and  now  think  that  this  is  no  fancy 
sketch,  but  a  faithful  report  of  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Mary  CoflSn, 
aged  eighty  years. 

In  the  hole  back  of  the  floor  occupied  by  this  old  woman  sleep,  on 
rags  on  the  floor,  IMary  Douglas,  and  her  daughter,  eight  years  old, 
who  says  she  would  like  to  know  what  a  good  square  meal  was,  but, 
above  all  things  else,  desires  a  place  where  she  can  get  rid  of  the 
smells  which  persistently  haunt  this  cursed  place. 

To  add  to  the  discomforts  of  this  hole,  there  are  garbage-boxes 
in  the  halls  ;  dogs  sleep  around  the  house  ;  there  are  dangerous  holes 
in  the  floors  ;  the  steps  are  broken  ;  there  are  no  lights  in  any  of  the 
hallways  ;  and  on  wet  days  the  rains  soak  in  through  the  rotten  roof, 
and  flood  the  lower  floors. 

To  sum  up,  there  is  not  a  single  room  in  this  large  house  which  is 
fit  for  a  beast  to  live  in  ;  and  perhaps  the  worst-looking  woman  in  the 


ROTTEN  ROW.  113 

whole  tdicmcnt  is  a  widow  Harrison,  aged  sixty-two,  who  resides  in 
the  dirtiest  and  foulest  room  in  the  building,  and  who  owns  the  whole 

house. 

Let  me  strengthen  and  conclude  this  fearfully  accurate 
pen-picture  of  tenement-house  life  (?)  in  New  York  by  re- 
publishing the  subjoined  "  realistic  "  description  of  "  Rotten 
Row." 

In  Greenwich  Street,  between  Spring  Street  and  Canal  Street, 
on  the  North-river  side,  there  extends  a  block  of  houses,  known  to 
the  neighborhood  under  the  generic,  yet  at  the  same  time  specific, 
name  of  "  Kotteu  Row." 

Now,  there  is  a  Rotten  Row  in  London  very  well  known  to  very 
fashionable  people  ;  but  this  Rotten  Row  of  ours  here  in  New  York  is 
not  yet  known  to  fashionable  people  at  all.  Yet  it  is  worth  seeing^ 
this  New- York  Rotten  Row,  for  it  is  very  suggestive,  very  realistic, 
very  terrible  ;  and  this  is  what  you  see  in  Rotten  Row  :  — 

Enter  No. Greenwich  Street,  for  instance,  Mrs. ,  agent. 

You  will  see  the  narrowest  yard  you  probably  ever  saw,  full  of 
all  sorts  of  refuse,  containing  a  huge  puddle  of  stagnant  water,  a 
small,  tumble-down,  foul  closet,  heaps  of  wood  and  shavings,  and  a 
pile  of  dn-ty  rags.  This  yard,  such  as  it  is,  winds  and  curves,  like 
a  dog's  hind-legs,  and  serves  no  useful  purpose  whatever.  It  is  merely 
a  "  crooked  hole."  From  this  yard  leads  a  dark,  narrow  entry,  —  aa- 
dirty  as  dark,  —  with  the  sootiest,  grimiest  walls  one  ever  set  eyes  on, 
—  walls  full  of  holes,  full  of  filth;  walls  bulguig,  cracked,  repulsive 
looking.  H.aviug  traversed  the  entry,  you  ascend,  if  you  are  an 
expert  climber,  a  flight  of  stairs,  winding,  rickety,  dirty,  worn,  —  a 
flight  of  stairs  which  grows  darker  as  you  climb ;  as,  while  leaving 
the  light  in  the  entry  below  you,  you  do  not  gain  any  light  from 
above  you,  as  the  only  light  on  the  whole  staircase  comes  from  a 
very  small  window  on  the  very  top  floor. 

Reaching  the  top,  j'ou  find  you  have  reached  a  rat-hole,  a  desertecl 
garret,  a  plasterless,  chilly,  filthy  old  rat-hole  of  a  garret  —  of  course, 
deserted  by  humanity.     You  are  about  to  descend,  when  you  hear 


114  HUMANITY  IN  A  RAT-HOLE. 

voice?  and  sounds  above  you  ;  and  yon  suddenly  become  unpleasantly 
aware  that  you  have  made  a  mistake,  that  your  deserted  garret  is 
really 

AN  INHABITED   RAT-HOLE, 

—  thickly  inhabited,  —  too,  for  three  families  live  all  the  year  round 
in  tliis  gr'-ret,  and  pay  a  high  rent  for  the  privilege  of  so  living. 

Climbing  up  cautiously  to  the  garret,  you  find  it  composed  of  a 
species  of  ceu  ''al  space,  or  hallway,  into  which  open  three  rooms,  or 
square  holes,  inlu," nted  each  by  a  family.  The  situation  here  is  as 
i:)icturesque  as  it  is  uncomfortable. 

In  winter  the  snow  and  the  sleet  enter  here  without  aught  to  hinder ; 
in  summer  the  heat  here  is  stifling ;  in  rainy  weather  the  whole 
garret  is  aleak  ;  in  windy  weather  the  garret  might  as  well  be  out  of 
doors.  But  here,  alike  in  rain,  in  wind,  in  summer,  and  in  winter, 
live  and  shiver  and  scorch  and  moisten  a  number  ot  human  beings,  — 
four  old  women  and  two  children,  —  who  pay  four  dollars  a  month 
for  their  "  privileges." 

Right  below  and  to  the  aide  of  this  gan-et  j'ou  see  a  square  door, 
like  the  entrance  to  a  loft.  Opening  it  you  find  yourself  in  a  long, 
narrow  room,  a  sort  of  extension,  a  prolonged  hole,  likewise  inliabited 
by  a  family.  The  family  being  above  the  average  of  its  class,  the 
room  is  clean ;  but  a  more  cheerless  and  dilapidated  assemblage  of 
boards  was  never  put  together.  The  ceiling  tumbles  down  in  instal- 
ments, the  roof  leaks,  the  walls  are  full  of  holes :  there  is  not  the 
slightest  pretence  at  convenience,  or  aught  required  by  health  or 
comfort.  The  only  cheerful-looking  object  in  the  room  is  a  two- 
months-old  baby,  lying,  tied  up,  sleeping  on  the  pile  of  rags  which 
serves  for  a  bed,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  an  Indian  pappoose. 

The  wliole  house  is  substantially  built,  but  as  dirty  as  desolate, 
as  bare  as  it  is  substantial.  It  is  utterly  unfitted  to  be  lived  in  five 
minutes,  yet  there  are  several  poor  devils  who  have  lived  in  it  for  five 
years. 

Another  house,  No. Greenwich  Street,  owned  by  a  Mr. 

of  a  Fire-insurance  Company,  is  very  similar  in  all  material  points 


TWENTY-TWO   YEABS  IN  A  HOG-PEN.  115 

and  aspects.  Its  entry  and  its  yard  are  even  dirtier  than  tliat 
of  the  lioiise  just  described.  The  entry,  particularly,  is  so  full  of 
decayed  vegetables  that  it  would  be  readily  mistaken  for  a  muck- 
garden. 

No. Greenwich  Street  is  a  third  component  part  of  the  tene- 
ment-house horror  known  as  "Rotten  Row."  It  has  a  very  small 
yard,  not  over  four  feet  in  width,  —  an  alley  of  dirt,  terminating  in  a 
foul  closet.  Here  is  where  the  children  play  and  the  women  wash. 
The  walls  of  this  house  are  black  with  age  and  dirt,  and  full  of  holes. 
The  doors  are  decayed  and  dirty ;  so  are  the  floors,  so  are  the  ceil- 
ings. There  is  a  dirt-heap  under  the  stairs,  and  the  staircase  is  in 
a  terrible  condition.     All  the  entries  are  dirty,  narrow,  and  dark. 

On  the  second  floor  of  this  house,  in  the  front-room,  live  five 
families,  separated  by  a  curtain.  This  way  of  dividing  a  room  is  a 
A*ery  common  occurrence  in  tenement-houses  ;  and  the  discomforts,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  indecencies,  it  implies,  will  suggest  themselves  at 
once.  The  curtain,  or  screen,  is  generally  of  the  thinnest ;  nor  is  it 
by  any  means  always  in  its  place.  The  herding  together  after  this 
fashion  of  j'oung  and  old  people  of  both  sexes  is  a  terrible  evil. 
The  top  floor  of  this  house  is  an  abominable  place,  fit  only  for  cats, 
dogs,  and  rats,  who  inhabit  in  about  equal  proportions ;  but,  unfor- 
tiaiately,  it  is  also  iniiabited  by  several  families  of  human  beings, 
who  pay  rent  for  their  dens. 

One  old  woman  has  lived  in  this  garret-hell  for  twenty-two  years, 
paying  rent  for  it  all  the  time.     Just  think  of  it ! 

TWENTY-TWO   YEARS    IN   A   HOG-PEN, 

for  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less.  During  the  greater  portion  of  this 
time  she  has  paid  ten  dollars  a  month  for  her  share  of  the  dirt  and 
darkness  of  the  garret,  —  sometimes  as  high  as  twelve  dollars  a 
month.  At  present  she  is  paying  "only"  two  dollars  a  week. 
Altogether  she  has  paid  the  various  landlords  of  this  house  over 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars,  —  a  small  fortune,  taken  out  in  filth  and 
misery. 
There  are  big  holes  in  the  walls  of  this  garret,  there  is  a  lack  of 


116  PANDEMONIUM  IN  A   LOFT. 

plaster,  the  ceiling  is  j?iviu<T  way  in  various  places,  the  floor  is  full  of 
holes,  the  spot  is  as  eiieerless  as  a  graveyard,  there  are  no  conven- 
iences of  any  kind ;  but  here  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century 
has  lived  this  old  woman,  and  here  are  living  at  this  moment  a  num- 
ber of  men  and  women  in  certain  divisions  of  dirt  and  despair  which 
they  call  and  pay  rent  for  as  their  "  rooms." 

But  would  you  believe  it?  Even  on  top  of  this  top  floor,  overhead 
of  this  garret,  tiiere  is  a  viler  place  still,  which  is  the  home  of  six 
human  beings.  You  have  to  climb  up  to  this  loft  on  a  rici<ety  ladder, 
at  the  risk  of  breaking  your  neck  ;  and,  when  you  reach  the  loft,  you 
have  to  bend  your  botly  to  avoid  striking  with  your  head  the  sides. 
The  only  light  and  air  that  can  reach  this  loft  nuist  reach  it  through 
the  smallest  species  of  a  scpiare  window,  an  aperture  of  about  one 
foot  scjuare :  and  it  is  always  dark  and  damp  ;  as,  of  course,  the  old 
roof  leaks  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  In  winter  this  loft  receives 
through  the  chinks  in  the  shingles  of  the  roof  the  snow ;  in  storms 
this  loft  receives  the  rain  ;  one-half  the  year  it  is  as  hot  as  Tartarus ; 
the  other  half  of  tlie  year  it  is  as  cold  as  Greenland.  And  it  is 
always  night  there,  though  God's  blessed  sunlight  is  but  an  inch  or 
so  outside.  Damp,  dirty,  full  of  holes,  full  of  rags,  full  of  garbage, 
full  of  rats,  this 

PANDEMONIUM   O''   A    LOFT 

is  the  home  of  three  men,  two  women,  and  a  little  baby,  who  live 
together  in  misery,  squalor,  and  indecency,  —  ay,  and  pay  four  dollars 
a  month  to  be  able  to  do  so.  There  are  only  two  artists  who  would 
even  attempt  to  do  adequate  justice  to  the  "  situation  "  in  this  loft, 
—  Charles  Dickens  and  Gustave  Dor6. 

And,  while  on  this  subject  of  the  poor,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
quoting  the  following  article  from  "  The  New- York  Era,"  which 
presents  a  peculiar  view  of  the  metropolitan  poor,  taken  from 
a  "  summer  "  stand-point :  — 

"  God  help  the  poor!"  This  is  a  pet  phrase  of  philanthropy  iu 
winter,  when  the  suow  is  on  the  ground,  when  the  bleak  wind  wbis- 


"In  Donovan's  I-^nc"  [p.  116]. 


THE  POOR   OF  NEW  YORK  IN  SUMMER.  117 

tics :  but  philanthropy  ignores  the  poor  in  snmmer  ;  it  does  not  tliink 
of  them  wlion  the  grass  is  green,  when  tlie  flowers  are  frnjirant, 
when  fashion  goes  "out  of  town."  Yet  tlie  poor  must  live,  even  in 
the  summer. 

But  hoiv  do  the  poor  live  in  summer?  Tliat  is  tl»e  question.  And 
we  proiH)8e  to  answer  it,  so  far  as  tlio  answer  can  be  furnislied,  by 
a  description  of  tlie  way  the  poor  live  during  "  the  heated  term  "  in 
the  city  of  New  Yorlc. 

First,  who  do  we  mean  by  "the  poor"?  Wliy,  not  only  the 
piuipcr  and  the  tramp,  but  the  man  or  woman  of  straitened  eireum- 
stiuices,  the  man  or  woman  who  obtains  his  or  her  daily  bread  by  his 
or  her  daily  toil,  and  whose  daily  toil  does  not  always  suillce  to 
obtam  their  daily  bread. 

How  do  these  live  in  summer?    Well,  we  will  show  by  examples. 

Do  you  see  that  man  eating  peaches  there  at  the  corner,  —  tliat 
man  with  an  old  straw  hat,  and  still  older  coat,  and  far  older  pants  ; 
tiiat  shabby  man,  who  munches  peaches  as  if  he  were  really  hungry, 
wiiieh  he  is?  Well,  that  man  has  a  history.  He  was,  two  years 
ago,  a  book-keeper  for  a  wholesale  house,  at  a  salary  of  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  His  firm  failed,  and  he  has  been  out  of  work  ever 
since.  There  is  a  plethora  of  lx)ok-keepeis  in  the  market.  For  a 
while  he  lived  on  expectations,  and  a  little  money  that  he  had  saved. 
Then  he  lived  on  a  little  money  that  he  was  able  to  borrow.  Then 
he  lived  on  trust.  And  then  he  did  not  live  at  all.  He  and  his 
family  (he  had  a  family,  of  course :  men  out  of  employment  always 
have)  merely  existed.  They  sank  lower  and  lower.  Now  they  oc- 
cupy a  room  on  a  top  floor  of  an  F^ssex-street  tenement-house,  and 
the  ivhole  family  eat  nothing  but  fruit.  The  family  of  three  live  on 
peaches,  bananas,  and  apples,  —  cheap,  because  somewhat  deca^'ed 
fruit. 

This  is  an  actual  fact.  The  writer  of  this  article  has  talked  with 
this  man,  and  had  heard  his  story  from  his  own  lips.  About  forty 
cents'  worth  of  fruit  a  day  suffices  to  keep  soul  and  body  together,  in 
the  person  of  himself,  his  wife,  and  his  child.  Small  apples,  peaches, 
etc.,  can  be  purchased,  at  a  cent  apiece,  sometimes  six  or  seven  for 


118  MIDNIGHT  IN  MADISON  SQUABS. 

flvo  centa ;  and  flvo  oouts*  wortli  can  mnkc  a  nioal,  such  aa  it  is,  nml 
keep  u  liuman  being  fiuin  Hliuvuliun.  At  this  liuur  there  arc  hini- 
tUetltf  of  men  and  women  in  the  city  of  New  York  wlio  exist  wiiolly 
upon  fruit,  and  wlio  thank  God  tliat  tite  summer  affords  tliem  the 
opportunity  to  get  this  fruit.  Tlieir  dining-rooms  are  the  street- 
corners  ;  tlicir  reataurateura  arc  the  old  apple-wouicu ;  their  menu 
consists  wliolly  of  dessert. 

How  do  tlic  ix)or  sleep  in  summer?  Do  they  sleep  at  all?  We 
propose  to  show. 

Tlie  other  night  the  writer  of  this  article  strolled,  after  midnight, 
tlnougij  Madison-square  Park.  He  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
a  colony  of  tramps,  —  of  tramps  who  were  not  traniping,  but  sleei)- 
jng.  The  benches  in  the  park  were  half  full  with  slumbering  va- 
grants. Tlie  seats  had  been  extemporized  into  beds.  The  writer 
made  a  tour  of  the  park,  and  coimted  sixty-four  sleepers,  and  thir- 
teen who  were  preparing  to  sleep. 

It  was  a  picture9(iuc  spectacle.  Nothing  could  be  more  so.  TIio 
l)ale  moon  looked  througli  fleecy  clouds  upon  the  poor  devils  as  they 
slept ;  but  even  the  moon  followed  the  example  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  looked  down  upon  them.  Around  them  was  the  green 
grass,  over  the  heads  of  some  of  them  waved  the  leafy  trees ;  aiul 
tiiere  they  slept,  in  all  manner  of  positions. 

One  man  slept  bolt  upright.  He  was  an  "old  stager,"  and  could 
sleep  under  any  circumstances.  Another  leaned  his  head  upon  his 
cane,  and  snored  —  yes,  absolutely  snored  —  as  comfortably  and  as 
thoroughly  as  though  he  were  reposing  on  a  f(.'ather-bed.  A  third 
old  veteran  slept  with  his  head  on  the  iron  side  of  a  seat,  with  one 
leg  on  the  ground,  and  the  other  thrown  loosely  over  the  back  of  tlie 
seat,  —  a  position  which  we  defy  any  mortal  but  an  experienced  tramp 
to  sleep  in. 

One  wearied  mortal  reposed  at  full  length  on  the  ground,  and  we 
were  glad  to  see  him  do  so.  It  seemed  more  according  to  the  fitness 
of  things.  Surely  the  turf  was  a  more  appropriate  bed  than  tiie 
bench.  He  was  a  young  man ;  but,  young  as  he  was,  he  already 
looked  like  one  who  bad  seen  better  days  —  and  nights. 


SLEEPEHS  ly  TUE  PARKS.  119 

Amonf?  tlio  crowd  of  slccpors  there  wns  one  womnn,  —  a  rixthcr 
pretty,  tlioiij^h  ftulod,  woman,  — docfut  too  ;  for  hIio  Hlcpt  iii)riglit,  till 
by  lu'rHflf,  in  tlie  corner  of  the  park  facing  the  junctiou  of  Twenty- 
third  Street  nnd  Madison  Avenne. 

There  wiw  also  one  scholar  among  these  tramps,  one  wide-awake 
aclioiar,  wtio  Hat  bolt  upriglit,  and,  under  the  ftdl  light  of  a  lump,  was 
reading  a  book,  —  not  only  reading  it,  but  evidently  studying  it  care- 
fully. Who  knows  but  this  tramp  may  some  day  be  a  secretary  of 
state,  —  aye,  may  be  u  President  himself? 

Thousands  of  men,  and  not  u  few  women,  sleep  in  the  Central 
Park.  This  fact  is,  of  course,  denied  by  the  Centrttl-i)ark  police ; 
but  it  is  a  fact,  nevertheless.  How  on  earth  can  it  be  prevented? 
or,  to  put  the  matter  on  its  merits,  why  should  it  be  prevented  if  it 
could?  Better  to  sleep  all  night  in  the  park  than  in  the  station- 
houses,  or  out  on  the  street,  as  they  sleep  in  Donovan's  Alley,  and 
other  choice  localities,  or  in  carts,  or  on  cellar-dooi-s. 

A  policeman  of  a  statistical  turn  of  mind  calculated,  in  a  talk 
with  the  writer,  that,  on  a  fair  night  in  August,  over  five  hunched 
people  slept  in  the  various  public  narks,  and  that  fully  that  number 
slept  in  the  street,  or  on  piles  of  boards,  in  wagons,  etc.  About  six 
or  seven  hundred  more  "bummed"  in  the  various  station-houses, 
while  one  or  two  hundred  wandered  from  place  to  place,  or  walked 
the  streets  sleeplessly  all  night.  Altogether,  the  bedless  population 
of  New  York  in  summer  may  be  safely  estimated  to  reach  at  least 
two  thousand,  — more  than  the  entire  population  of  many  a  thriving 
country  town  I     Just  think  of  it,  —  a  bedless  village  iu  our  midst ! 

If  those  who  peruse  this  book  will  but  read  and  re-read  the 
articles  I  have  just  quoted,  they  will  be  enabled  to  form  a  cor- 
rect as  well  as  vivid  idea  of  "  the  poor  of  New  York." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  PKN-PANOnAMA  OF  NEW  YOHK  {continued).  — CniillK  AND  CRIMINALS.— 

TiiK  Mali:  and  femalk  thikvum  ok  the  METuoroi.iH.  —  mkktinu  muu- 

DEUEltS    UN  UKOADWAV.  — THE    HUCIAL  EVIL.  —  OAUDLINU,   BtjUAitK  A.NU 
BKIN.  —  TUE  OAMULEK'S  CUltlUTMAH   EVE. 

Crime  in  New  York,  like  every  thing  else  in  New  York, 
flourishes  extensively,  and  is  generally  misstated  and  misun- 
derstood. It  is  underrated  by  many,  and  overestimated  by 
many  more.  The  really  good  and  innocent  have  very  faint 
ideas  of  how  many  really  rascally  and  professedly  criminal  men 
and  women  there  are  in  New  York ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  man  of  the  world,  or  the  average  New-Yorker,  is  apt  to 
exaggerate  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  to  credit  (?)  the  great  and 
greatly  bad  metropolis  with  a  much  greu,ter  percentage  of 
villany  than  really  belongs  to  it. 

Some  years  ago  a  writer  in  "  The  New- York  World  "  pub- 
lished an  elaborate  article  on  "The  Thieves  of  New  York," 
which  contained  a  great  deal  of  reliable  information  concern- 
ing its  subject.  Taken  as  a  whole,  this  article  may  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  extended,  philosophical,  and  accurate 
of  its  class ;  and  I  cannot  do  better  than  by  here  giving  ex- 
tracts from  it. 

The  major  portion  of  the  thieves  of  New  York  is  composed  of 
the  sous  and  daughters  of  Irish  parents,  either  born  iu  tliis  country, 
or  haviug  emigrated  to  it  at  an  early  age.  Next  in  numerical  pro- 
portion comes  the  native  population  itself.  Then  rank  the  pjnglish, 
who  supply  the  metropolis  with  some  of  its  most  skilful  and  success- 

120 


DIVISIONS  OF  THIEVES.  121 

fill  "oporatorfl."  Noxt  rftuk  the  Oormnn  popiilfttion,  wlio  supply  a 
lnr|j;(5  piTooiitaj?**  of  tlio  meaiit'Hl  kind  of  tliieviH,  known  uh  it'cciviTS 
of  Htoicu  ji;oo(lH  ;  also  a  conHi(k'nil)lL'  proportion  of  llic  slioplifU-ra  of 
the  nu'tropoiiH.  Tlien  come  tho  aliens,  who  rank  anion[^  tlieni,  many 
vagrant  tliieves,  and  the  lowest  i>OHHible  eharacterH  ;  and.  after  them, 
tlic  refuse  of  the  Spaniards,  who  devote  their  leisure  to  intri^,Mie,  tho 
coiilldence  game,  and  to  general  thieving.  Tiiere  are  very  few 
Scoteh,  and  very  few  Welsh,  and  not  a  very  large  proportion  of 
Frcuoh,  thieves.  There  is  olso  a  considerable  percentage  of  thieves 
of  color. 

Thieves  are  divided  and  subdivided  into  distinct  classes,  each 
class  devoting  Itself  to  a  separate  branch  of  the  "profession." 
Those  varieties  of  operation  may  be  enumerated  as  follows :  The 
burglar,  or  cracksman,  cinl)racing  two  different  species,  — the  scien- 
tific l)urglar,  or  first  class,  who  exercises  a  great  deal  of  intellectual, 
as  well  as  mechanical,  skill  in  his  profession,  —  as  in  breaking  open 
tiio  safe  or  strong-box  of  some  bank  or  banker,  —  and  the  commou 
burglar,  or  second  class,  who  merely  uses  his  jimmy,  skeleton  key, 
ami  kindred  tools;  the  highway  robber,  or  Toby-man,  who  attacks 
one  in  the  public  streets,  especially  late  at  night,  or  in  the  less  peril- 
ous districts ;  the  garroter,  a  species  of  highway  robber,  too  famil- 
iar to  need  any  description  ;  the  pickpocket,  or  knucksman,  male  or 
female ;  the  snatcher,  who  grasps  his  prey  suddenly  at  unawares, 
and  runs  for  it ;  the  sneak  thief,  who  justifies  his  name  by  sneaking 
into  lionses,  and  stealing  whatever  apparel,  or  odds  and  ends,  he  can  ; 
the  car-tliicf,  or  car-frisker,  and  his  companion,  the  stage-thief,  or 
stage-buzzer ;  the  counterfeiter,  or  kogniacker,  or  maker  and  shover 
of  the  "  queer;  "  till-thievea,  or  till-tappcrs,  who  devote  themselves 
to  the  robljcry  of  the  exchequer ;  forgers,  or  scratchers,  who  are,  in  a 
criminal  point  of  view,  regarded  as  very  dangerous  sort  of  thieves ; 
"  pocket-liook  droppers,'*  or  heelers,  whose  peculiar  business  will  be 
explained  hereafter;  "confidence"  men,  who  are  also  to  be  prop- 
erly counted  as  thieves;  "receivers,"  or  "  fences,"  w^ho  are  cer- 
tainly robbers,  and  the  very  worst  variety  thereof,  though  they  are 
too  cowardly  to  do  the  business  themselves  5  the  hotel-thief,  among 


122  THE  "  nEELERS." 

the  most  genteel  and  dangerous  of  all  variety  of  robber ;  the  train- 
ers of  thieves,  male  and  female,  who  keep  in  this  Christian  city  of 
New  Yorli,  and  in  this  nineteenth  century  of  Christianity,  regular 
schools  of  stealing;  the  river-thlevcs,  or  dock-rats,  who  "follow 
the  river;  "  the  panel-thieves,  or  badgers;  the  shoplifters,  or  holst- 
ers, a  variety  of  thieves  with  whom  metropolitan  store-keepers  are 
only  too  familiar ;  domestic  thieves,  who  are  the  pests  of  private 
families,  and  tlie  dread  of  housewives ;  and  a  few  minor  varieties, 
which  are  known  only  by  the  thieves  themselves. 

The  class  of  men  and  women  denominated  "blackmailers,"  as 
likewise  the  class  known  as  "  fraudulent  buyers,"  may  also  be  con- 
sidered as  "outside,"  "indirect,"  though  very  dangerous  thieves. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  thief  will  combine  two  or  more 
"varieties"  we  have  just  mentioned,  turning  his  hand  to  whatever 
branch  may  pay  him  the  best,  or  for  which  the  most  favorable  oppor- 
tunities are  afforded :  but,  as  a  rule,  each  professional  has  his  own 
favorite  line  of  business,  to  which  he  devotes  his  energies ;  just  as 
lawyers  are  criminal  lawyers,  civil  lawyers,  divorce  lawyers,  etc. 

The  pocket-book  robbers,  or  heelers,  are  a  peculiar  variety  of 
thieves.  They  drop  a  pocket-lxjok  at  a  countryman's  feet,  touch 
him  on  the  heel  to  direct  his  attention,  tiien,  pointing  to  the  pocket- 
book,  suggest  that  it  may  have  been  lost  by  some  one  in  the  city ; 
that  they  are  not  able  to  take  any  steps  to  return  it  to  its  rightful 
owner,  as  they  are  obliged  to  leave  town  ;  but  they  will  intrust  the 
duty  of  so  doing  to  the  countryman  himself,  suggesting  that  the 
latter  can  entitle  himself  to  a  liberal  reward  by  restoring  the  walloi, 
/  which  appears  to  be  well  filled,  to  the  ownor.     The  excited  rustic, 

who  intends  to  keep  it  for  his  own  use,  and  who  thinks  hi3  compan- 
ions to  be  consummate  fools,  accepts  the  pocket-book  (and  the  im- 
posed duties),  and  is  about  to  leave,  when  the  "droppers  "  suggest, 
that,  as  he  will  receive  a  heavy  reward  for  the  wallet,  they  themselves 
deserve  some  compensation  for  giving  it  to  his  care.  The  country- 
man hands  them  some  bank-notes,  and,  five  minutes  later,  discovers 
that  he  has  given  good  money  for  bad,  that  the  pocket-book  is 
"stuffed,"  and  that  he  himself  is  a  sadder  and  wiser       J.    Cwnfi- 


POINTS  ABOUT  THIEVES.  123 

dence-mcn  often  play  a  lucrativo  but  a  difflcult  part.  They  pretend 
to  have  money  themselves,  or  checks,  or  stocks,  or  equivalents,  obtain 
money  or  goods  on  these  "  frauds,"  and  thus  earn,  or  at  least  obtain, 
a  livelihood.  Their  dodges  are  almost  infinite  and  often  ingenious. 
They  will  form  an  acquaintance  with  a  man,  spend  money  liberally 
on  him,  and  at  the  last  moment  discover  that  they  are  forced  at  once 
to  liquidate  a  heavy  pecuniary  obligation  ;  they  have  only  a  check 
for  a  thousand,  which  is  dated  a  few  days  ahead  ;  will  their  friend 
be  kind  enough  to  advance  the  money  on  it?  which  the  friend  does 
to  his  cost.  At  least  twenty  otlier  swindles  could  be  mentioned,  did 
space  allow.  The  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  or  "  fences,"  are  a 
variety  of  pawnbrokers  or  stolen  collaterals,  keeping  nominal  dry- 
goods  stores,  tailor-shops,  etc.  They  pay  about  one-fourth  of  the 
value  of  the  stolen  article,  then  hide  it  in  their  cellars,  or  send  it  off 
to  some  confederate  in  another  city.  They  are  in  constant  communi- 
cation with  the  thieves,  and  "assist"  them  in  various  ways,  fur- 
nishing them  with  bail,  or  lawyers,  or  convenient  witnesses. 

As  for  the  trainers  of  thieves  in  this  city,  they  are  simply  compan- 
ion pictures  to  the  great  Dickens's  pen-picture  of  "  Fagan  the  Jew." 

The  blackmailers  and  fraudulent  buj'ers  have  so  many  methods  of 
operation  that  it  would  be  needless  to  attempt,  in  our  limited  space, 
to  describe  them,  especially  as  these  classes  are  outside  of  the  regu- 
lar "  organizations,"  to  which  we  have  reference. 

As  a  rule,  thieves  dress  well  and  not  flashily :  we  allude  to  the 
bt'ter  and  more  successful  class  of  "  operators."  They  do  not,  as  a 
general  statement,  affect  jewellery ;  endeavoring,  of  course,  to  avoid 
any  and  every  mark  of  their  identity  personally.  Thieves  are  also, 
as  a  class,  skilful  in  imitation  and  disguise,  —  two  very  essential 
qualifications  in  their  profession.  It  is  also  stated  on  good  authority, 
that,  in  point  of  cleanlmees,  thieves  are  models  as  a  rule ;  also  they 
are  rarely  drunkards.  They  have  vices  enough,  but  intemperance  is 
not  one  of  them.  The  latter  is  too  careless  and  incautious  a  failing. 
A  thief  seldom  commits  himself  by  "  outside  "  talk.  He  never  betrays 
himself  by  the  hasty  or  imprudent  word.  His  motto  in  this  respect 
is  that  of  King  Solomon,  "The  fool  speaketh  all  his  mind,  but  the 


124  WHAT  THIEVES  DO. 

wise  man  keepeth  it  till  afterwards."  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
is  unreservedly  confidential  to  his  "pals."  In  their  relation  with 
women,  thieves  are  more  "  moral  "  and  "  constant  "  than  is  generally 
imagined.  In  fact,  the  hazards  of  a  life  of  crime  often  develop  a 
degree  of  truth  and  affection  bet  veen  man  and  woman,  united  only  by 
the  slenderest  ties,  which  is  seldom  equalled  (because  seldom  called 
for)  in  a  career  of  respectability.  A  thief  will  not  hesitate  to  lie  in 
an  outrageous  manner  to  an  "outsider."  He  considers  this  lie  as  a 
justifiable  weapon  of  defence  or  defiance,  but  to  his  confederates  he 
will  invariably  speak  the  truth.  The  great  vice  of  the  thief  is 
gambling.  This  is  the  chief  amusement  and  pernicious  folly  of  his 
life.  All  thieves  gamble,  from  the  most  renowned  burglar  to  the 
most  obscure  sneak-thief.  As  fast  as  they  make  a  "haul,"  they 
rush  to  faro  or  keno,  and  "  lose  their  pile  "  almost  as  rapidly  as  they 
acquire  it.  Late  every  night,  after  the  professional  duties  of  the  day 
are  over,  the  "  crossman  "  of  every  grade  can  be  seen  going  from 
gambling-hell  to  hell,  seeking  not  "  whom  he  may  devour,"  but  where 
he  may  be  pecuniarily  devoured.  If  it  were  not  for  the  gambling- 
table,  all  thieves  might  be  rich.  As  it  is,  the  gambling-table  keeps 
them  all  poor. 

Men  who  steal  are  not,  as  a  class,  educated  men ;  but  it  has  lately 
been  observed  that  their  increasing  numbers,  and  their  contact  with 
the  world,  have  rendered  the  tribe  more  refined  and  "  clever,"  super- 
ficially at  least :  while  not  a  few  of  modern  thieves  are  among  the 
most  gifted  men  in  the  country.  In  the  matter  of  pleasiues  it  has 
been  remarked  that  they  are  not  much  addicted  to  the  average  run  of 
amusements,  as  theatrical  exhibitions  and  the  like,  perhaps  from  their 
acquired  habit  of  regarding  these  "  affairs  "  with  an  eye  to  business. 
Their  chief  gratification  seems  to  be  "idhng"  when  "off  duty," 
and  gossiping  with  their  "pals."  They  are  decidedly  fond  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  table. 

Thieves  seldom  go  alone,  and  still  more  seldom  work  alone.  They 
operate  in  what  is  styled  "mobs,"  embracing  from  throe  to  seven 
persons,  under  the  leadership  of  some  skilful  and  bold  "hand." 
Till-tappers,  confidence-men,  and  heelers  generally  work  in  pairs  j 


A   THIEF'S  GRATITUDE.  125 

while  any  number  of  parties  may  be  concerned  in  a  burglary.     A 
shoplifter  sometimes  worka  witliout  assistance. 

The  "mobs"  often  associate  together,  and  form  a  "bank,"  to 
which  a  certain  portion  of  their  "stealings"  is  appropriated,  to  be 
used  during  a  bad  season,  or  when  one  of  their  number  falls  into 
the  clutches  of  the  law.     That  is  called  "laying  for  a  fall." 

"  HONOR   AMONG   THIEVES." 

This  oft-quoted  expression  has  a  meaning,  a  real  and  noteworthy 
signification.  There  is  a  practical  "honor"  among  "professional 
thieves,"  which  non-professionals  would,  in  some  respects,  do  well 
to  imitate.     This  honor  includes  the  following  "  points  :  "  — 

Fii'st,  A  thief  does  not  consider  his  fellow  as  an  enemy,  but, 
rather,  as  a  friend.  Thus :  if  A,  a  tliief,  meets  B,  whom,  though  a 
perfect  stranger  to  him,  he  recognizes  also  to  be  a  thief,  A  will  not 
endeavor  to  divert  business  from  B,  or  interfere  with  his  prospects, 
hut  ooutcnts  himself  witli  his  own  line  of  trade,  and,  if  he  does  aught 
in  the  premises,  will  directly  assist  the  stranger  B.  This  is  honor 
"  reversed  "  indeed. 

Second,  Tliieves  are  strictly  upright  in  the  payment  of  their  debts 
to  one  anotlier.  Thus :  Dutch  Hendricks  borrowed  twenty  dollars 
of  a  fellow-prisoner,  who  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  him  personally, 
and  promised  to  return  it  as  soon  as  possible.  Shortly  after,  Hen- 
dricks was  liberated ;  while  the  man  who  loaned  him  tlie  money  was 
sent  to  Sing  Sing.  But  Hendricks's  first  "  earnings  "  after  liis  return 
to  freedom  were  devoted  to  the  payment  of  his  loan,  wliich  was 
banded  over  by  him  to  a  party  designated  by  the  original  lender; 
thus  cancelling  an  obligation  which  nothing  but  a  sense  of  honor 
could  have  compelled  him  to  satisfy. 

Third,  Thieves  are,  as  a  class,  grateful  for  favors  rendered, 
and,  like  an  Indian,  never  forget  a  kindness.  A  man  by  tlie  name 
of  Clarke,  in  Lispenard  Street,  once  assisted  a  poor  thief  during  his 
sickness  liy  bringing  to  the  room  where  the  fellow  lay  some  medicines 
and  invalid  luxuries.  He  was  in  the  room  but  ten  minutes  ;  but  the 
thief,  though  apparently  dying,  took  in  at  a  glance  his  benefactor's 


128  HONOR  AMONG   TUIEVES. 

countenance,  and  inquired  his  name.  The  thief's  first  step  after 
his  recovery  was  to  discover  the  locale  of  Mr.  Clarke :  and,  thougli 
naught  transpired  at  the  time,  two  years  afterwards,  when  Clarke 
himself  had  forgotten  the  occurrence,  and  was  pressed  greatly  for 
the  want  of  five  hundred  dollars,  the  money  was  mysteriously  forth- 
coming ;  being  sent  to  him,  as  was  afterwards  discovered,  by  the 
grateful  thief.     Such  instances  are  by  no  means  rare. 

Fourth,  Thieves  are  seldom  mean  in  their  money  transactions 
outside  of  the  necessities  of  their  profession.  Thus :  it  has  been 
remarked,  at  the  drinking-bar  of  a  large  hotel  near  Niblo's  Garden, 
that,  while  many  men  of  apparent  respectability  would  "forget"  in 
the  crowd  to  "settle  for  their  drinks,"  the  unsuspected  pickpocket 
would  invariably  pay  his  reckonings. 

Fifth,  Thieves  seldom  or  never  betray  each  other.  They  will 
bear  the  odium  of  the  punishment  alone,  rather  tiian  force  a  comrade 
to  share  it.  Occasionally  they  will  even  bear  the  brunt  of  misdeeds 
committed  by  others  of  the  fraternity.  Sometimes  they  will  aid  an 
officer  indirectly  iu  restoring  stolen  property,  provided  that  no  persons 
are  compromised.  In  regard  to  the  betrayal  of  confidence,  thieves 
are  very  severe  as  cttncerns  their  dealings  with  each  other ;  and  a 
*' dishonoraole  "  thief  will  be  entirely  tabooed  and  ostracized  by  iiis 
companions.  Thieves,  however,  have  been  known  to  attempt  to  lay 
the  burden  of  their  guilt  on  the  shoulders  of  innocent  "outside" 
parties.  Thus:  a  car-thief  recently  stole  a  pocket-book,  "weeded 
it,"  and  then  placed  it  in  the  pocket  of  an  unsuspecting  by-stander, 
who  was  accused  of  the  robbery.  This  is  called,  we  believe,  "  Tail- 
ing a  dead-leather,"  and  is  an  unutterably  mean  proceeding. 

After  all,  this  "  honor  among  thieves  "  is  only  remarkal)le  because  of 
its  contrast  with  the  usual  baseness  and  turpitude  of  their  general  life. 

Another  writer  in  "  Frank  Leslie's  Illustrated  Paper  "  has 
given  the  world  the  following  interesting  facts  regarding  female 
thieves : — 

That  stealing  has  become  in  modern  times  "  a  fine  art,"  and  that 
it  is  never  likely  to  become  one  of  "  the  lost  arts,"  is  generally  con- 


FEMALE  THIEVES.  127 

ceded;  but  it  is  one  of  tliose  many  "arts"  or  professions  in  wliicli 
the  women  will  never  be  able,  in  all  probability,  to  rival  the  men. 
Somehow  or  other  there  are  fewer  female  thieves  than  iniile  thieves  ; 
and,  as  a  class,  the  former  are  less  expert  at  their  wicked  work  than 
the  latter. 

Account  for  it  as  you  may,  the  fact  is  undoubted.  Every  detec- 
tive, every  police-olHcer,  every  magistrate,  every  humanitarian,  will 
tell  you  that  a  comparatively  small  percentage  of  women  are  thieves  ; 
that  male  thieves,  in  proportion  to  female,  are  as  three  to  one  ;  while 
they  are  not  only  far  less  numerous,  but  far  less  skilful  and  daring, 
far  less  plucky,  far  less  clever. 

Some  theorists  may  account  for  the  fact  just  rtated  on  the  ground 
of  the  superior  virtue  of  the  female  sex.  They  may  assume,  and 
perhaps  with  some  show  of  truth,  that  women  are  innately  more 
honest  than  men. 

Others,  again,  less  complimentary  to  the  sex,  may  account  for  the 
comparative  paucity  of  female  thieves  on  the  theory  that  women  a'"e 
more  cowardly  than  men,  less  prone  to  take  the  risks  of  persor  1 
punishment  and  State  prison  ;  while  a  third  set  of  philosoi)hers  may 
argue  that  women  are  really  less  clever  "at  taking  tilings,"  less 
expert  with  their  handy,  less  skilful  In  the  use  of  burglars'  tools,  than 
men. 

Probably  all  three  of  these  theories  are  to  a  certain  extent  correct, 
and  together  will  serve  to  account  for  the  fact  that  female  thieves  are 
comparatively  few. 

But  only  "comparatively"  few,  after  all;  for  in  reality,  consid- 
ered by  itself,  without  any  reference  to  the  men,  the  number  of  female 
thieves  in  the  country  in  general,  and  in  the  city  of  New  York  in 
special,  is  large,  —  quite  too  large. 

And  one  fact  should  here  be  noted  :  — 

The  proportion  of  female  thieves  is  on  the  increase,  and  has  been 
steadily  increasing  for  some  time.  There  are  more  women  who  steal 
professionally  now  than  there  were  ten  years  ago. 

Emigration,  and  the  social  and  pecuniary  changes  brought  about  by 
the  war,  together  with  the  "labor"  strikes  and  troubles  which  have 


128  STEALING  IN  "  SOCIETY." 

agitated  the  community  for  some  time  past,  will  serve  partly  to  account 
for  this  very  uudesirable  increase. 

FEMALE   THIEKDOM  :    ITS    UPPER   AND    LOWER   TENDOM. 

Female  thieves,  as  fouud  in  the  metropolis,  where  they  are  in  a 
higher  (?)  degree  of  perfection  (?)  than  elsewhere,  may  be  divided 
into  eight  classes,  three  of  which  may  be  characterized  as  "indirect" 
thieves,  while  the  latter  five  classes  are  thieves  "  direct."  The 
"  indirect "  thieves  do  not  style  themselves  "  thieves,"  and  are  called 
by  more  euphonious  titles.  They  "operate"  mysteriously  and  in 
secret ;  while  the  other  classes  ply  their  nefarious  trade,  wherever 
they  can  get  a  chance,  by  ordinary  methods,  among  ordinary  peoi)le. 

The  "indirect,"  or,  if  the  term  is  not  un  absurdity  in  such  a  con- 
nection, the  "higher,"  classes  of  female  thieves  sometimes  embrace 
women  of  some  education,  and  even  pretensions  to  refinement;  while 
the  lower  ranks  are  composed  almost  wholly  of  the  most  ignorant, 
vulgar,  and  degraded  of  the  sex. 

The  three  "higher"  (?)  classes  of  female  thieves  comprise  what 
are  called,  in  common  parlance,  "blackmailers"  and  "adven- 
turesses ;  "  and  to  the  list  should  be  added  the  class  known  as  "  hotel- 
thieves."  Strictly  speaking,  these  adventuresses,  blackmailers,  con- 
fidence-women, etc.,  are  thieves,  just  as  truly  as  the  pickpocket.  In 
fact,  they  are  thieves  of  the  most  dangerous  description,  —  ten  times 
more  dangerous  than  any  mere  pocket-pickers. 

In  strictly  "social"  or  non-professional  circles,  too,  there  have 
been  occasionally  (but  very  rarely)  found  ladies  of  standing  and 
position  who  have  forgotten  themselves  and  the  eighth  commandment. 

STEALING   IN    "SOCIETY." 

One  lady  of  middle  age,  a  wife  and  mother,  high'y  connected,  but 
whose  family  are  "  decayet'!,"  —  reduced  somewhat  'n  pecuniary  eii- 
cumstances,  though  still  what  is  called  "comfortable,"  —  has  been 
more  than  suspected  of  having  taken  the  well- filled  pocket-book  of  a 
lady- friend  with  whom  she  went  out  one  morning  "shopping."    It 


FEMININE  IIOTEL-TIIIEVES.  129 

has  so  happenoil  at  different  times  during  the  last  Ave  or  six  years, 
tiiiit  this  liidy  has  "  niatrouized  "  several  heiresses  making  their  lUbut 
ill  New-York  society ;  and  it  has  also  so  happened  that  each  one  of 
those  heiresses  liaa  met  with  some  mysterious  pecuniary  loss  —  the 
loss  of  some  pocket-book,  etc.  —  while  in  the  company  of  this  most 
res})cctabie  diaperone :  so  that,  putting  tliese  facts  together,  "  people  " 
iu  society  have  begun  to  talk  about  the  matter ;  and  it  is  not  at  all 
pioljable  that  this  "poor  but  highly  respectable  "  matron  will  evor 
have  the  chance  to  matronize  any  more  heiresses. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  certain  well-to-do  men  and  women  — 
wouiou  and  men  who  have  no  pecuniary  inducements  to  steal  —  are 
yet  diseased  with  an  inclination  to  take  things  which  do  not  belong  to 
tiiem ;  but  these  maniacs  are  known  as  kleptomaniacs,  and  do  not 
full  under  the  head  proper  (or  improper)  of  thieves. 

But  until  recently  our  leading  hotels  and  watering-places  were 
infested  with  a  number  of 

IIOTEL-TIIIEVES, 

often  women  of  considerable  personal  attractions,  who  would  become 
acquainted  with  the  wealthy  residents  of  the  hotels,  obtain  a  social 
footing  with  their  families,  and  rob  their  victims,  sometimes  entering- 
their  rooms  with  false  keys,  etc.,  or  they  would  "beat"  the  hotel- 
proprietors,  deceive  them  by  false  representations,  or  by  "stuffed" 
trunks  filled  with  bricks  or  other  worthlessness.  This  class  of  pests 
throve  for  a  while  extensively ;  but  the  hotel-keepers  organized  a 
force  of  special  "  hotel-detectives,"  a  few  of  the  leading  hotel-thieves 

—  Mrs.  M ,  Mrs.  W ,  etc.  —  were  sent  to  State  prison,  and 

at  present  hotel-thieving  is  decidedly  on  the  decline ;  the  detective 
ah-eady  alluded  to  —  Mr.  George  Elder — computing  the  number  ia 
this  city  as  not  exceeding  about  thirty. 

So  much  for  what  has  been  called  the  "  swell  "  female  thieves. 

The  lower  orders  of  female  thiefdom  embrace  five  classes,  —  the 
shoplifters,  the  stage-thieves,  the  domestic  thieves,  or  dishonest  house- 
hold-servants, and  the  pickpockets. 


130  DRY-GOODS  STORES  AND  THEIR   TniEVES. 


BlIOPUKTKnS. 

The  shoplifters,  or  women  who  steal  goods  —  generally  drj'-goods 
—  from  stores,  are  on  the  increase  however.  It  is  calculated  that 
there  are  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  shoplifters  in  tlie  nietroiiolis, 
the  majority  of  whom  are  Germans.  These  shoplifters  generally 
carry  a  large  shawl  or  a  big  cloak,  and  their  dresses  have  huge, 
deep  pockets :  sometimes  one  dress  will  have  us  many  as  four  pock- 
ets. They  dress  plainly,  so  as  not  to  attract  attention,  but  neatly, 
so  as  to  be  mistaken  for  lady  customers. 

They  move  about  our  large  dry-goods  stores,  especially  on  "open- 
ing "  days,  examine  goods  on  the  counters,  and  then,  when  the  clerk 
is  not  looking  at  her,  —  for  even  dry-goods  clerks  cannot  have  their 
•eyes  everywhere  at  once,  —  the  shoplifter  transfers  a  piece  of  delicate 
lace  into  her  capacious  pocket,  or  hides  a  splendid  i)iece  of  dress- 
goods  under  her  shawl  or  cloak,  and  departs,  sometimes  unmolested, 
and  sometimes  not :  for,  taught  by  experience,  most  of  our  large  dry- 
goods  stores  now  employ  keen-eyed  men  as  detectives  ;  and  so,  occa- 
sionally, the  shoplifter  comes  to  grief. 

A  woman  was  recently  arrested  at  a  dry-goods  store,  and  brought 
into  the  private  oflice,  where  she  was  searched.  Her  person  was  a 
perfect  museum  of  stolen  dress-goods.  Her  three  pockets,  being 
turned  inside  out,  "emitted"  pieces  of  the  most  costly  lace;  and 
under  a  capacious  siiawl  was  displayed  enough  silk  to  make  two 
dresses.  Three  pairs  of  stolen  gloves  also  rolled  from  her  pocket  on 
the  floor,  followed  by  two  richly  embroidered  lace  handkerchiefs. 

The  scene  of  the  "exposure"  was  r.atlier  striking,  and  eminently 
"  suggestive."  Perhaps  the  most  suggestive  feature  of  all  was  the 
indignant  "attitude"  struck  by  the  woman,  who  persisted,  spite  of 
the  eloquent  "  articles  "  all  around,  in  insisting  on  her  "  innocence," 
she  failing  to  convince  the  members  of  the  firm. 

The  number  of  stage-thieves,  or  women  who  "  work  "  the  stages 
for  the  purposes  of  stealing,  is  decidedly  on  the  decrease.  Time  was 
when  our  Broadway  busses  were  the  favorite  haunts  of  well-dresseil 
female  thieves,  who  would  pick  the  pockets  of  the  unwary,  or,  some- 


Ti.. 


"  Searching  the  shop-lifter  "  [p  130]. 


"EMOTIONAL"    THIEVES.  131 

times,  even  cut  their  pocltets  out  by  u  knife  or  scissors.  So  mhoit 
were  these  tliicves,  that  they  have  been  Iviiowi)  to  t(il<o  the  money 
fi-om  a  stolen  poeket-book  rifj;lit  before  tiie  rif^litful  owner's  eyes, 
and  tiien  to  replace  the  poeket-book  before  the  victim  misHed  it.  At 
one  time  these  stage-molls,  *' stage-liuzzers,"  or  "knueks,"  as  they 
were  called,  numbered  over  one  humh'ed ;  but  it  is  now  claimed  that 
their  number  has  been  reduced  to  less  than  fifteen  known  profes- 
sionals. 

OUR   HOUSKIIOLD   THIEVES.  —  SOME   8TAKTUNO    FACTS. 

The  greatest  increase  in  the  number  of  our  female  thieves  has 
been  found  to  be  among  our  female  servants, — our  "domestics." 
The  increase  in  these,  and  in  the  number  of  blackmailers  and  adven- 
turesses, has  ovcr-l)aIauced  the  decrease  in  the  other  lines  of  profes- 
sional female  thieves. 

The  majority  of  these  dishonest  domcHties  are  of  German  l)irth  ; 
and  it  has  been  ascertained  by  the  efforts  of  detective  Tilly,  seconded 
by  the  skill  of  Capt.  Irving,  that,  in  certain  cases,  these  servant- 
thieves  combine  together,  and,  under  the  leadership  of  a  man,  him- 
self a  German,  rob  their  employers  systematically,  takmg  refuge  with 
the  '*  man  "  when  ''  out  of  a  situation  "  between  "  robberies." 

A  more  dangerous  state  of  tilings  for  the  community  could  scarcely 
be  imagined  ;  and  "  intelligence-offices,"  as  at  present  conducted, 
are  doing,  by  their  loose  way  of  transacting  business,  all  they  can  to 
play  into  the  bands  of  these  domestic  thieves,  one  of  whom  lias,  how- 
ever, recently  been  consigned  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Sing-Sing 
prison. 

EMOTIONAL   THIEVING.  —  GRIEVING    AND    STEALING. 

Of  late  years  a  new  and  simple,  yet  clever,  style  of  stealing  has 
become  popular  with  the  female  thieves  of  the  metropolis. 

For  want  of  a  better  name,  it  may  be  styled  "  emotional  thieving  ;  " 
as  it  depends  upon  the  exhibition  of  joy,  grief,  friendship,  etc.,  ou 
the  part  of  its  victims.  ,  Weddings  and  funersils  have  of  late  become 
great  centres  for  clever  female  thieves  in  which  to  operate,  and  they 
have  made  the  most  of  their  opportunities.     Grief  seems  to  admit 


132  FEMALE  VILLANY. 

of  more  stealing  tlmn  Joy ;  or,  at  least,  there  arc  more  thieves  to  be 
found  at  fiiiicniU  tliaii  at  wt'ddiii^H. 

Somi'tiiiifs  tho  tliit'f  will  "oiKTufu"  at  tli«' cliun'Ii ;  HonH'tinios  at 
the  house  of  inouriiiiij;  or  of  feuHtini^ ;  HotnetiinoH  tlie  female  roMier 
wlll  go,  clad  gtiyly,  as  a  friend  of  the  bride ;  or  soniutiines,  ullired 
in  deepest  l)luek,  as  a  heurt-bro!{eu  mourner. 

Hut  in  cither  case  her  eyes  and  ilngers  are  busy  all  the  time.  One 
woman  has  u  large  handkerchief  bordered  with  black,  with  which  mIiu 
wipes  her  eyes  constantly.  She  attends  every  possible  funeral,  and 
Tises  this  handkerchief,  like  charity,  to  cover  u  *•  multitude  of  sins  ;  " 
for  she  niana<i;e8  to  use  it  to  iiide  some  article,  some  knick-knack  of 
value,  some  bock,  or  art'cle  of  virtu,  some  costly  trille,  which  she 
may  happen  to  sec  and  clutch.  And,  as  she  ^^  ateala  awuy,"  she 
"  wipes  her  weeping  eyes." 

The  number  of  these  "  emotional  thieves  "  is  estimated  at  about  a 
hundred  and  llfty.  Then,  of  late  there  has  arisen  a  class  of  thieves 
who  haunt  the  docks,  and  minj^le  with  the  crowd  of  people  who 
gather  on  the  piers  to  see  the  last  of  their  Kurope-going  friends. 
While  the  "wild  adieus  are  waved  from  shore,"  these  cunning 
female  thitves  "wave"  and  steal  both. 

A  woman  was  recently  arrested,  who,  while  waving  her  handker- 
chief with  one  hand  to  an  imaginary  8omel)ody  on  the  departing  ship, 
with  the  other  hand  was  busy  in  the  pockets  of  her  neighbor. 

THE   SUM   OF   FEMALE    VILLANV. 

Of  course,  accurate  statistics  of  the  number  of  female  thieves  in 
New  York  are  utterly  unattainable ;  but  the  approximate  statistics 
have  already  been  given,  and  may  be  thus  summed  up.  They  will 
be  found  suHlciently  correct  for  all  purposes.  They  have  been  fur- 
nished by  the  police  ofllcials  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  arc  as 
follows :  — 

Professional  blackmailers,  about      ........         150 

Adventuresses  (of  the  upper  grades) 200 

Hotel-thieves,  only  ..........  30 


FIVE  MURDKItEliS  ON  UliOADWAY.  133 

Panel-thicven,  only 20 

Hliopliftern,  ut  least 805 

I)iiiiiu8tiu  houHehold-thievea,  cHtimated  by  the  police  at  about        .  4<lO 

MiBoelhineouH  fuinale  thitsvua  and  pickpocketa        ....  100 

Total 1,L'55 

As  yet  New  York  ha«  esoupe J  the  presence  and  the  opera- 
tions of  professional  assassins,  analogous  to  tlic  bravoos  of 
Venice  or  the  Tliugs  of  India.  Hut  that  there  are  hundreds 
of  men  "lying  around  loose,"  or  "tight,"  ready  to  commit 
murder  for  a  consideration,  or  without  any  consideration, 
cannot  bo  denied. 

Nor  can  New  York  claim  any  high  regard  for  the  .anclity  of 
human  life.  Not  only  have  there  been  hosts  of  "mysterious 
murders"  committed  in  the  metropolis,  —  of  which  the  Natlian 
murder  is  only  one,  though  the  most  celebrated,  —  not  only 
liave  there  been  hundreds  of  New- York  murderers  either  ex- 
ecuted or  imprisoned,  but  there  are  in  New  York  to-day  a 
number  of  men,  each  of  whom  has  killed  his  man,  but  all  of 
whom  are  free  as  air,  and  all  prosperous,  and  apparently 
respected,  —  some  quite  "popular." 

In  a  recent  stroll  along  Broadway,  from  Clinton  Place  to 
Thirty-fourth  Street,  a  New-Yorker  met  five  murderers,  one 
after  the  other,  on  the  promenade,  —  five  men  who  had  shot 
other  men  dead.  Two  of  these  literally  "  free  shooters  "  were 
rich,  and  were  surrounded  by  their  fawning  satellites :  a  third 
was  a  great  man  among  the  sporting  fraternity.  Tlie  other 
two  were  living  a  retired  life,  but  all  five  seemed  to  be  in  the 
best  of  health  and  spirits  ;  and  it  is  safe  to  say,  that,  in  either 
London  or  Paris,  all  five  would  either  have  been  hung,  or 
would  be  in  State  prison  for  life. 

"The  social  evil,"  so  called,  is  one  of  the  prime  evils,  the 
great  curses,  of  New  York.  There  are  at  least,  to  use  Eliza- 
beth Barrett  Browning's  words,  while  altering  her  figures, — 


134  "  GAMBLING  IN  GOTHAM." 

"  Ten  thousand  women  in  one  smile, 
Who  only  smile  at  night,  beneath  the  gas." 

And  the  sights  presented,  by  broad  daylight,  in  the  direct  rear 
of  the  Broadway  hotels,  from  the  Grand  Central  to  the  St. 
Nicholas;  and  the  scenes  visible  every  night  on  any  of  the 
leading  avennes  and  thoroughfares,  —  are  alike  dreadful  and  dis- 
gusting. "  Up  town  "  is  lined  with  houses  of  gilded  infamy, 
and  assignation  houses;  and  some  of  the  "hotels"  have  a 
character  that  is  more  or  less  than  "doubtful."  Broadway 
is  "  alive  "  with  showily  dressed  and  sometimes  beautiful  Tra- 
viatas ;  and  prominent  dry -goods  stores,  restaurants,  ay,  and 
even  churches,  are  turned  into  cruisuig-grounds  for  "  adven- 
turers," and  places  for  "  meeting  by  appointment."  The 
"personals"  and  "matrimonials"  in  the  papers,  even  the 
"housekeepers"  and  the  "medical"  advertisements,  are  used 
as  "  baits  "  for  the  lascivious,  or  traps  for  the  unwary.  Sixtli 
Avenue  exhibits  whole  blocks  of  depravity.  And  even  on 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Madison  Avenue,  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
fashionable  quarter,  pest-houses  of  this  sort  abound. 

And  gambling  keep^s  pace  with  prostitution.  Although  the 
laws  are  very  severe  against  gambling,  and  although  the 
authorities  institute  spasmodic  police-raids  against  the  gam- 
blers, there  is  alwa3's  "play,"  "high"  and  "low"  alike,  and 
plenty  of  it,  day  and  night  in  the  metropolis.  New  York  is, 
2mr  excellence,  the  favorite  resort,  both  of  stock  and  card 
gamblers. 

Some  years  ago  a  well-known  sensational  writer  published 
in  "The  Sunday  Mercury"  an  article  on  "Gambling  in 
Gotham,"  which  has  been  accepted  as  "authority"  ever  since. 
I  cannot  present  to  my  readers  the  facts  about  gambling  more 
fully  or  accurately  than  they  have  been  stated  in  tills  article, 
from  whiclx  I  accordingly  quote :  — 


A   CITY  OF  GAMBLERS.  135 

Ganibling-lioiisea  maybe  divided  into  five  classes,  —  an  an'ange- 
mcnt  warranted,  not  only  for  convenience  of  description,  but  also  as 
having  a  real  existence.  These  five  classes  embrace.  First,  The  low 
or  negro  game-houses,  or  dens,  wiiere  the  refuse  of  the  city  meet,  to 
waste  the  trifle  which  is  their  all  in  all,  and  where  the  play  is  as 
fierce  iu  intensity  as  the  stake  is  of  an  insignificant  amount.  Second, 
The  corner  groceries,  where,  in  the  back-shop,  gambling  is  generally 
carried  on  among  the  servants,  laborers,  and  hackmen  of  our  city. 
Third,  Tiie  Bowery  or  cross-street  gambling-establishment,  where  the 
clerks  and  middle  classes,  and  a  sprinkling  of  the  tliieves  and  coun- 
terfeiters of  the  metropolis,  congregate.  Fourth,  The  fashionable 
gaming-houses  on  Broadway,  and  the  cross-streets  up-towu,  where 
our  professional  gamblers,  men  alx)ut  town,  and  Wall-Street  specula- 
tors, resort ;  and  Fifth  and  last,  the  club-houses  on  the  avenue,  where 
a  quiet  game  is  nightly  carried  on,  and  where  the  haut  ton  play,  and 
lose  heavily. 

Tlie  amateur  gamblers,  betting  gentlemen,  the  members  of  our  first 
society,  who  amuse  their  leisure  hours  by  fighting  tiie  tiger,  are  a 
very  large  and  influential  class  of  the  community.  It  may  safely  be 
stated,  that  the  i  jority  of  our  leading  citizens  in  New  York,  cither 
publicly  or  privately,  gamble.  New  York,  in  fact,  is  a  city  of  gam- 
blers. We  bet,  we  wager,  we  stake,  we  hazard :  in  short,  we  all 
gamble.  Some  of  us  venture  our  pile  in  Wall  Street,  in  daytime ; 
others  in  Twenty-fourth  Street,  at  night ;  and  not  a  few  of  us  do 
both.  IMen,  like  a  well-known  down-town  speculator  and  up-town 
sport,  who  "operates"  terrifically,  spends  freely  what  he  magnifi- 
cently acquires,  and  stakes  on  the  turn  of  a  card  as  readily  as  on  the 
rise  of  a  stock  ;  men,  like  a  prominent  banker  and  politician,  —  also 
venture  freely,  and  hazard  thv,  mo'.  they  can  well  afford  to  lose. 
The  "  Old  Man,"  and  those  of  kiudrt  stamp,  men  of  gigantic  ideas, 
gamble  like  giants.  Society-men,  physicians,  lawyers,  judges,  and 
newspaper-men  devote  a  portion  of  their  spare  time  to  play ;  while 
at  least  two-thirds  of  our  politicians  are,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
gaml)lers. 

Gamblers  may  be  divided  into  two  great  classes,  of  amat'^urs  and 


136  GAMBLERS  AND   TIIEIli   CLASSES. 

professionals,  —  men  who  gamble  lor  excitement  and  amusement,  and 
men  who  gamble  for  a  livelihood.  Of  the  latter  class  we  would  here 
say  a  few  words. 

Professional  gamblers,  like  all  classc  of  men,  may  be  indefinitely 
divided  and  subdivided  into  various  grades,  more  or  less  clearly  de- 
fined. First,  There  are  the  proprietors  of  the  fashionable  gambling- 
houses  on  Twenty-fourth  to  Twenty  seventh  Streets  —  tlie  Wall  Street 
of  gamblers,  the  Fifth  Avenue  of  farodoni  —  and  the  vicinity.  Sec- 
ond come  the  proprietors  of  tiie  Broadway  houses.  Then  there  are 
the  proprietors  of  the  smaller  establishments,  located  on  the  Bowery 
and  the  cross- streets.  Then  there  are  a  class  of  people,  who,  like 
the  late  -John  C.  Heenan,  keep  what  is  called  a  gambler's  bank,  an 
institution  whose  character  is  explained  in  another  part  of  the  article. 
And  hist  comes  the  herd  of  gamblers  who  haunt  these  various  estab- 
lislnnents,  some  of  whom  play  the  role  of  roper-in  or  general  agent 
for  an  estalilishment ;  others,  that  of  capper,  a  term  elsewhere  ex- 
plained ;  otliers,  who  are  dealers,  a  very  imiwrtant  post  given  only 
to  men  who  can  be  trusted,  etc.,  who  never  talk ;  others,  who  look 
out,  or  watch  the  dealer,  preventing  any  mistake  on  his  part ;  others, 
who  keep  the  cue-board,  —  croupiers  generally,  —  blacklegs,  et  id 
omne  genus.  We  must  not  forget,  in  our  enumeration,  to  mention 
the  inevitable  contraband,  who,  in  this  connection,  is  generally  a 
sleek,  well-bred  fellow,  who  guards  the  entrance,  sees  that  supper 
is  served,  and  performs  kindred  oflices.  Lowest  and  meanest  of 
all  come  the  "strippers,"  a  class  of  blackmailers  and  loafers  who 
infest  gambling-houses,  and,  too  cowardly  to  risk  aught  on  their  own 
account,  claim  a  portion  of  the  gamblers'  spoils  under  penalty  of  a 
"  row  "  or  an  "  expos^  "  if  refused. 

Those  who  object  to  losing  money  at  games  of  chance  should  not 
play  at  all ;  and  it  is  the  height  of  meanness  to  —  as  has  of  late 
been  too  frequently  done  —  first  illegally  venture  money  at  hazard, 
and  then,  by  process  of  law,  to  recover  it  if  the  venture  has  gone 
adversely.  The  true  wisdom  is,  to  shun  all  such  places  as  one  would 
a  roaring  lion.  It  has,  however,  been  stated  often,  that  all  gam- 
bling-games are  unfairly  conducted ;  that  no  amateur  is  safe  with 


TUB  "  CAPPER."  137 

"patents  "or  professionals;  in  otlier  words,  that  all  gamblers  are 
sliarpers.  Tliese  statements,  like  all  other  general  statements, 
though  generally  true,  are  occasionally,  though  rarely,  false,  correct 
under  certain  circumstances,  and  unfounded  in  otiiers.  A  few,  very, 
very  tew  absolutely  gamblers  are  beyond  reproach  as  gamblers,  and 
gentlemen  can  stake  money  at  their  establishments  with  a  perfect 
assurance  of  good  faith,  so  far  as  the  mere  gambling  is  concerned  ; 
the  best  proof  oi  which  fact  is,  that  these  houses,  and  others  of  a 
similar  character,  sometimes,  though  very,  very  seldom,  lose  heavily 
with  apparent  amateurs,  or  sometimes  with  absolute  strangers.  But 
to  by  far  the  most  of  the  minor  houses  of  New  York,  and  to  not  a 
few  of  the  fashionable  establishments,  these  statements  are  not  at 
all  applicable,  but,  as  they  say  in  the  comedy,  precisely  the  reverse. 
These  latter  dens  are  the  resorts  of  blacklegs  and  dupes ;  and,  of 
course,  the  former  carry  the  day,  or,  lather,  the  niglit.  We  propose 
here,  briefly,  to  unveil  a  few  of  the  more  prominent  mysteries  of 
these  establishments. 

Gambling-houses  of  the  kind  last  alluded  to  employ  a  very  useful 
personage,  known  as  the  capper.  The  capper  is  generally  a  genteel- 
looking  individual,  apparently  forty  or  forty-five  years  of  age,  con- 
veying the  idea  of  a  retired  merchant,  or  a  gentleman  living  upon  his 
income.  It  often  happens  that  a  party  of  amateurs,  or  greens,  may 
be  gathered  together  in  a  gaming-house,  disposed  for  sport,  and  jet 
each  of  the  assemblage  being  unwilling  to  open  the  game  on  his  own 
individual  account.  In  this  case  the  capper  is  needed.  A  bell  gives 
him  the  signal.  lie  hastens  down  stairs  from  his  iimer  chamber, 
opens  the  street-door,  enters  the  gambling-room,  as  though  a  visitor 
just  arrived.  lie  is  welcomed  by  the  proprietor  with  empreosement, 
saluted  as  "Colonel,"  Is  asked  where  he  has  been  lately, — he  has 
not  been  visible  for  some  time,  etc.,  —  and  will  he  not  have  a  glass 
of  wine  or  a  cigar.  The  capper,  or  colonel,  blandly  accepts  all  the 
courtesies  shown  him,  and  then,  looking  around  in  his  polite  and 
dignified  way  upon  the  assembled  company,  impressing  them  with 
a  feelmg  of  respect  and  confidence  by  his  unblemished  integrity, 
suggests  pleasantly,  "  What  say  you,  gentlemen,  to  enjoying  a  social 


138  "  SKIN  "-GAMES. 

game  with  our  fiicud,  the  proprietor?"  etc.  He  sits  down  to  tlio 
table  accordingly,  and  the  rest  follow  their  leader ;  and  the  great 
object  is  accomplished,  — of  commencing  play,  — out  of  the  proceeds 
of  which  the  very  respectable  capper  takes  his  very  respectable  per- 
centage. The  capper  is  generally  an  expert,  sometimes  keeps  the 
cues,  and  is  altogether  a  most  important  personage. 

Another  of  tlie  chief  features  of  ordinary  gambling,  in  all  cities, 
and  a  feature  upon  which  much  of  its  pecuniary  success  depends,  is 
the  institution  known  to  the  initiated  as  '•  ro))ing-iu."  This  system 
affords  the  jneans  of  an  elegant  and  easy  livelihood  to  many,  and 
is  worthy  an  expos4.  A  roper-in  is  simply  an  outside  agent  for  a 
gambling-house,  who  supplies  it  with  its  victims,  receiving,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  services,  a  per  cent  of  sometimes  one-half  of  the 
pluckings.  The  roper-iu  iS  generally  a  man  of  the  world,  polished 
iu  manners,  full  of  savoir  /aire,  a  good  judge  of  human  nature,  and 
keen  in  perception.  His  field  lies  witliin  the  compass  of  the  fashion- 
able hotels.  He  haunts  the  reading-rooms,  gentlemen's  parlors,  and 
offices  of  the  St.  Nicholas,  Metropolitan,  New  York,  Wmdsor,  and 
Fifth-Avenue  Hotels,  and  his  usual  mode  of  operation  is  as  follows ; 
He  watches  closely  all  the  arrivals,  and  ascertains  from  the  inspec- 
tion of  the  books,  or  casual  observations,  the  names  and  business  of 
such  guests  as  he  deems  will  best  suit  his  pi'.rpose,  then  devotes  his 
energies  to  the  study  of  the  personnel  and  morale  of  the  latter  class. 
Having  satisfied  his  scrutiny,  he  contrives  in  some  cunning  way  to 
form  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  their  number,  and,  by  plausil)ly  con- 
ceived and  well-executed  lies,  diverts  all  suspicion,  and  soon  ripens 
an  acquaintance  to  almost  friendship.  Having  m.nde  his  points  thus 
far,  the  roper-in  invites  his  friend  to  accompany  him  to  the  theatre, 
and  insists  on  paying  all  the  expenses,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  his 
duty,  as  a  citizen,  to  extend  the  hospitality  of  New  York  to  tlie 
stranger.  After  the  theatre,  the  roper-in  suggests  a  cigar,  and 
then,  amid  the  puffs  of  a  Havana,  hits  on  a  visit  to  a  friend's  house 
ill  the  neighborhood,  where  he  knows  they  would  be  welcome,  and 
could  enjoy  a  game-supper  and  a  bottle.  The  stranger,  fascinated 
by  this  new  idea,  flattering  hinself  that  he  is  indeed  seeing  the 


THE  ROPER-IN.  139 

elephant,  nncl  doing  New  York,  assents,  and  is  accordingly  ushered 
into  luxuriously  furnished  apartments,  where  all  (hat  can  please  the 
eye,  or  gratify  tlie  taste,  awaits  him.  He  is  introduced  to  a  number 
of  gentlemen  of  distinguished  bearing  and  exalted  name  ;  and,  after 
a  liberal  course  of  conversation  and  refreshments,  it  is  proposed  to 
Join  in  a  little  social  game ;  and,  to  make  the  play  more  interesting, 
it  is  also  proposed  to  wager  small  amounts  of  money  upon  the  result, 
—  merely  for  amusement, — pour  passer  le  temps,  of  course.  The 
victim  assents :  to  refuse  now  would  be  ungeutlemauly.  He  may 
plead  ignorance  ;  "  but  the  principle  of  the  game  is  so  simple,"  and 
the  roper-in  will  show  him  all  the  details.  He  plays,  and  wins,  — 
tiie  victim  generally  wins  at  first :  he  is  elated  and  good-humored 
with  his  luck.  Higher  stakes  are  proposed :  still  he  ascends,  and 
still  he  wins.  At  last  the  tide  of  fortune  begins  to  turn.  He  loses  ; 
hut  the  roper-in  at  his  elbow  says,  "  Try  your  luck  once  more:  you 
will  come  all  right  again  "  He  resumes  his  game,  and  loses  all  self- 
control.  Inflamed  by  wine,  and  frenzied  by  excitement,  watched  by 
men  who  have  long  since  learned  to  stifle  all  '  aman  emotion  in  the 
terrible  machinery  of  play,  he  falls  an  easy  spoil.  In  a  few  hours 
he  IS  stripped.  All  his  available  funds  are  divci'ted  from  his  own 
pocket  to  the  coffers  of  the  bank.  Sometimes  the  victim  oven  pledges 
his  rings  or  watch,  to  retrieve  his  loss,  but  to  no  avail.  And  then 
the  roper-in,  having  fulfilled  his  mission,  will  be  seen  no  more  in 
that  quarter  for  a  while. 

The  ropers-in  number  many  hundred  in  Now  York,  and  are  among 
the  chief  pests  in  our  pul)lic  places.  They  lounge  on  the  street- 
corners,  haunt  the  entrances  of  theatres,  stand  at  the  doors  of 
g.iniiug-houses ;  and,  though  known  to  the  hotel-keepc-s  jind  police, 
are  allowed  to  proceed  unmolested  in  their  ways. 

Again.  lu  the  third  place,  in  short  card-games,  blacklegs  gull  the 
unwary  l)y  means  of  their  thorough  knowledge  of  the  appearances  of 
the  various  cards  of  a  pack.  Occasionally  a  card  manufacturer  and 
gambler  will  act  in  concert ;  the  former  suggesting  certain  figures  to  be 
marked  upon  the  backs  or  corners  of  the  cards,  which,  though  not  to 
be  perceived  by  the  uninitiated,  wih,  ♦^^o  those  in  the  ring,  be  as  clear 


140  "  CARD-SIIARPERS." 

aud  full  of  meaning  as  a  tcU'graphic  signal  to  nn  operator.  For  the 
manufacture  of  tliese  cards,  the  gambler  will  contribute  a  large  sum, 
80  as  to  euublc  the  manufacturer  to  sell  them  at  a  low  rate,  and  force 
them  on  the  market.  Of  course,  wherever  these  cards  are  used,  tiie 
gamblers  are  masters  of  the  situation.  Even  the  ordinary  playing- 
cards  can  be  readily  distinguished  one  from  the  other,  aud  their 
suit  and  value  ascertained  by  the  sharper  by  their  backs  as  well  as 
the  general  public  by  their  faces.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  star-backed 
cards  present  occasionally  a  star  at  some  given  corner,  divided  into  two 
portions,  which  serve  as  indications.  The  calico,  or  check-backed, 
cards  are  also  distinguishable  by  the  recurrence  of  some  especial 
stripe  or  check  at  a  corner  which  will  serve  to  designate  the  suit 
and  the  card.  Even  in  a  pack  of  plain-backed  cards,  presenting  no 
marks  whatever,  the  sharper  can  easily  know  all  he  needs.  In  one 
suit  of  these  cards,  the  griiin  of  the  paper  may  chance  to  run  longi- 
tudinally ;  in  another  suit  it  may  run  transversely  ;  in  another,  diago- 
nally ;  and  in  the  last,  bias.  An  expert  gambler  can  read  the  cards 
as  rapidly  from  cue  side  as  from  another.  We  have  seen  the  fact 
demonstrated. 

In  the  fourth  place,  the  sharper,  or  blackleg,  acquires,  by  care, 
study,  and  long  practice,  a  wonderful  mechanical  sleight-of-hand  in 
his  manipulation  of  cards.  We  have  met  blacklegs  who  can  outdo 
Hermann  in  card-tricks.  They  can  deal  a  certain  number  of  cards 
to  their  opponents,  and  as  many  as  they  choose  to  '  hemselves,  with- 
out exciting  suspicion.  They  can  cause  two  or  three  cards  to  pass 
as  readily  as  one.  They  can  produce  any  desired  card  precisely 
when  it  is  wanted,  and  no  one  save  themselves  be  the  whit  the  wiser. 
Cards  can  be  shuffled  by  them,  and  cut  ad  libitum;  but,  provided  the 
sharper  has  the  deal,  he  can  control  his  own  band,  aud  that  of  his 
adversary,  at  will. 

In  the  fifth  place,  the  mechanical  appliances  of  the  sharper, 
utterly  unsuspected  by  the  unwary,  enable  him  to  defraud  witliout 
detection.  This  is  especially  the  caso  with  faro  and  the  faro-box. 
This  latter  appliance  is  often  a  marvel  of  ill-applied  ingenuity,  full 
of  hidden  springs  and  contrivances  which  are  absolutely  invisible  to 


BLACKLEGS  AND   THEIR   TRICKS.  141 

tlio  unprtictised  eye.  The  box  is  maile  of  silver,  and  presents  a  very 
beautiful  iippeurunce :  it  is  seemingly  simple,  but  really  complex. 
Into  the  faro-i)ox  the  usual  varii'ty  of  cards  will  oeeiisionally  not 
pass  without  being  "  reduced."  There  is  a  plate  or  knife  prepared 
for  that  purpose,  through  the  agency  of  which  the  edges  of  the  card 
can  be  made  concave  or  converse,  and  by  which  means,  also,  a  num- 
ber of  nip.rks  and  variations  can  be  produced,  sufllcieut  to  distinguish 
each  and  every  card  in  the  pack. 

''Braces,"  or  two  card-boxes,  are  also  used  by  dishonest  gam- 
blers. Cards  are  sand-papered,  and  so  arranged  as  to  cling  lovingly 
together ;  and  numerous  contrivances  of  similar  character  are  in 
vogue. 

But,  taken  as  a  whole,  U  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  cheat  success- 
fully at  faro.  There  must  Ije  in  all  cases  a  collusion  between  the 
dealer  and  the  cue-keeper,  and  great  carelessness  on  the  part  of  the 
player. 

Sixthly,  among  blacklegs  there  sometimes  prevails  a  system  of 
signals,  which  answers  all  their  purposes,  but  defies  the  oliservation 
of  outsiders.  And  sometimes  a  regular  telegraph  (a  "  gambler's 
telegraph")  is  put  into  operation.  A  confederate  placed  in  a  room 
above,  or  some  supposed  stranger  looking  on,  can  see  the  cards  of 
the  players,  and  then,  by  the  means  of  some  mechanical  communica- 
tion, and  a  series  of  agreed-upon  signs,  can  telegraph  his  knowledge 
to  his  pals.  But  instances  of  this  kind  are  comparatively  rare. 
Besides  all  this,  Mie  professional  blackleg  possesses  the  immense 
advantage  over  his  opponent  of  a  memory  rendered  almost  miracu- 
lous by  constant  practice,  a  sense  of  touch  educated  to  a  capacity 
rendered  almost  equal  to  that  possessed  by  the  blind,  and  a  coolness 
which  is  derived  from  long  familiarity  with  scenes  of  excitement,  — 
a  coolness  which  Is  in  itself  half  of  the  game. 

From  this  resume  of  the  tricks  practised,  and  the  advantages 
possessed  by  the  blacklegs,  or  swindling  gamblers,  it  is  evident  that 
tlie  "  patent  "  man,  or  sharper,  by  his  marked  cards,  hi?  sleight-of- 
hand,  his  "  paling,"  stealing  cards,  false  shuffling,  dealing  from  the 
bottom,  slipping  the  cut  on  top,  "  stocking  "  the  cards,  signals,  tele- 


142  A   MEMORABLE  QAME. 

gruplis,  arningcd  boxes  luul  tnlili's,  his  n}j;oiits  and  oappors  anil 
ropors-in,  oombined  with  his  womlerful  memory,  toucli,  and  cooIik'sh, 
ia  an  advoraary  agaiust  whom  all  amateur-playing  and  strokes  of  luck 
are  unavailing :  in  other  words,  to  use  an  expressive  phrase,  he  is  a 
man  who  plays  to  win. 

As  regard  the  interior  of  gambling-houses,  much  description  ia 
not  needed.  Sketch-writers  an  \  personal  experience  have  rendered 
*,o  most  information  on  this  matter  superfluous.  They  are,  as  a  rule 
{we  speak  of  the  better  class  of  houses),  handsomely  furnished, 
with  costly  tables,  elegant  machinery,  table-attendance,  and  well 
suppMed  with  cigars,  wine,  and  edit)le3  generally. 

It  was  at  Mr.  Morrissey's  establishment,  No.  5  West  Twenty- 
fourth  Street,  that  the  celel)rated  game,  one  of  the  most  stupendous 
on  record,  between  the  Hon.  John  Morrissey  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
Hon.  Hen  Wood  on  the  other,  was  played.  This  i)lay,  alike  from 
the  prominent  positions  of  the  principal  personages  engaged,  and 
the  enormous  sums  staked,  has  acquired  almost  a  world-wide  noto- 
riety. The  game  was  a  combination  game,  and  six  or  seven  persons 
were  engaged  in  it,  —  Tom  Merritt,  who  bears  the  rei)utation  of  being 
the  sharpest  dealer  in  the  United  States;  "Jim  Stuart,"  a  noted 
gambler;  eld  "Scrilmer,"  who  has  been  a  successful  professional 
for  over  a  third  of  a  century ;  a  gambler  rejoicing  in  the  unusual 
appellation  of  John  Smith;  and  a  noted  player  called  "  Rarelay  " 
from  Citlifornia.  In  addition  to  the  two  distinguished  congressmen, 
a  noted  city  judge  was  also  present  at  the  play ;  and  it  is  said  the 
Hon.  Ikn  AVood  happened  to  be  "short"  at  the  commencement  of 
the  evening ;  the  judge  loaned  him  three  thousand  dollars  to  start 
with.  The  game  was  continued  until  morning ;  both  principals 
waxed  more  and  more  elicited  as  the  stakes  grew  higher  and  higher ; 
and  both,  it  is  averred,  drinking  freely.  During  the  latter  part  of 
the  game,  over  thirtj'-one  tliousand  dollars  was  staked  on  the  turn 
of  a  single  card.  The  play,  which  proved  a  serious  earnest  for  Mr. 
Morrissey,  resulted  in  Mr.  Ben  Wood  winning  from  the  Ijank  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty-four  thousand  dollars.  Of  this  sum  ]Mr.  Morrissey 
is  said  to  have  lost  only  seventy  thousand  dollars,  the  balance  being 


GAMBLING  AT  THE  CLUBS.  148 

Blinrod  among  liis  associates.  At  any  rate,  the  game  was,  accord- 
ing to  the  prt)f('3.sioiiiil  giiniltU'r's  iiU'iis,  sqmirely  played,  luid  evinced 
a  degree  of  Hkill  on  on<  side,  and  phiek  on  the  other,  wiiieli  hii8 
seldom  been  e(nialled.  Certainly,  it  was  a  game  worthy,  in  its  mng- 
nitude  at  least,  of  the  Empire  City.  Such  a  game  could  have  beeu 
played  nowhere  outside  of  the  metropolis. 

Among  the  many  establishments  in  which,  though  not  gaming- 
houses, gambling  is  excessively  carried  on,  may  be  enumerated  those 
popular  institutions  known  as  clubs,  embracing  the  Travellers',  Union, 
Manhattan,  New  York,  and  otlier  fashionable  resorts.  I'oker  and 
whist,  with  other  varieties,  are  among  the  favorites  games  at  these 
places ;  and  heavy  stakes  are  not  unfrequently  wagered  on  the  results. 
AVe  have  been  told  of  one  wx'k  in  which  over  a  huiKbed  thousand 
dollars  changed  hands  at  the  Union  Club  ou  a  game  of  cards.  Of 
course,  at  the  clubs,  the  parties  playing  being  all  gentlemen  of  birth, 
education,  and  position,  the  utmost  honor  is  observed ;  and  the  best 
feeling  prevails.  Occasionally,  however,  a  sharper  will  manage  to 
obtain  the  entry ;  or  (such  cases  have  been  known  of,  though  very 
rarely)  one  of  the  members,  who  has  learned  the  tricks  of  gamblers, 
will  avail  himself  of  his  nefarious  experience,  —  and,  of  course,  the 
gentlemen  who  wager  their  money  will  be  defrauded.  But  these 
cases  are  exceptions  to  the  rule ;  and,  whatever  may  be  the  moral 
aspects  of  club-gambling,  it  is,  at  least,  a  fairly  conducted  amuse- 
ment, patronized  by  those  who  can  afford  it. 

As  regards  the  statistics  of  gambling,  we  would  say  a  few  words. 
This  branch  of  the  subject  is  replete  with  diflVulty  ;  and  all  data  given 
must,  of  course,  be  considered  as  onlj'  approximate ;  but  still  some 
general  figures  can  be  stated  which  will  afford  some  suggestive  ideas. 

Exclusive  of  the  groceries,  which  are  countless,  and  the  very 
vilest  of  the  low  dens  of  the  metropolis,  there  are  about  two  hundred 
gambling-houses,  —  public,  and  recognized  as  such,  —  about  fifty  of 
which  belong  to  what  may  be  styled  the  first-class  and  fashionable 
houses.  The  expenses  of  a  fashionable  gambling-house  are  enor- 
mous ;  amounting,  for  wines,  cigars,  suppers,  and  other  expenses, 
from  twenty-five  th.ouaaud  to  forty  thousand  dollars  per  annum.    The 


144        A  ^rA.\  with  a  passion  for  GAMnuxa. 

value  of  tlio  furniture  often  exocodH  twenty  thousimd  ilolliirH  in  one  of 
these  estulilislimenlH,  wliile  the  aniouiit  of  oiipitiil  reriuired  to  Htiut 
with  varies  from  llfteeu  tliousand  to  llfty  tliouHand  dollars,  while 
some  estaltlisliinentH  can  eoinmand  twice  the  sum  last  mentioned. 
The  amount  of  eapital  invested  in  tlie  gamliling-houses  of  the 
metropolis  must  exceed,  in  all  prohaltility,  over  a  million  and  a 
quarter  of  dollars.  The  amount  of  money  lost  or  won  at  gamlilinj^ 
must  amount  throughout  the  year,  on  an  average,  to  about  forty 
tliousand  dollars  nightly.  The  nund)er  of  i)rofessional  gamblers  in 
New  Yoriv  has  l)een  variously  computed  from  five  thousand  to  ten 
thousand,  or  about  one-fourtli  the  number  of  professional  courtesans. 
A  proprietor  of  a  gan)ljling-house  generally  makes  money,  lives  well, 
dines  as  an  epicure,  drinks  like  a  temperate  liacohns,  dresses  like  a 
lord,  and  enjoys  life  generally ;  but  his  tenure  of  prospeii^y  is,  gen- 
erally, sliort-lived  in  the  majority  of  the  cases.  As  for  the  profes- 
sional gambler,  he  simply  makes  his  expenses,  which  may  be  averaged 
at  two  tliousand  dollars  per  annum  ;  is  generally  as  poor  at  the  end 
of  the  year  as  he  was  at  the  beginning ;  and,  taken  altogether,  earns 
his  money  with  as  much  expenditure  of  time  and  talent  as  though 
laboring  in  some  regular  trade  or  profession. 

The  passion  for  gambling,  like  tlie  passion  for  drinking,  often 
obtains  a  terrible  hold  upon  its  victim.  One  of  tlu;  most  forci- 
ble illustrations  of  this  awful  trutli  is  afforded  by  the  powerful, 
realistic  sketch  entitled  "The  Gambler's  Christmas  Eve,"  writ- 
ten by  ]\Ir.  Isaac  G.  Reed,  jun.,  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
scries  of  sketches,  "  Thirty  Years  in  Gotham,"  in  which  the 
story  first  made  its  appearance.  This  sketcii  is  founded  upon 
fact,  and  was  as  follows :  — 

A  man  with  a  passion  for  gambling  —  and  with  a  wild  idea, 
common  to  many  gamblers,  that  he  will  some  clay  "think  out" 
a  "  system  "  which  will  enable  him  to  beat  chance,  burst  a  faro- 
bank,  and  always  win  —  marries  a  deserving  woman,  and  finally, 
through  her  influence,  promises  to  abstain  from  gambling,  and 


TUE  OAMllLER'S  CUIilSTMAS  EVE.  146 

never  to  outer  a  gaming-deu  iij^ain.     T?e  kept  his  promiso,  but 
still  bvoodt'tl  over  his  poHsiule  iiilullible  "system." 
Tliis  WHS  tiie  utatua  one  Christraad  Eve.     We  give  the  rest  of 

the  story  literally. 

C'liristmns  Eve  eanie  :  ond  it  had  Ijcen  iiitondi-d  for  all  the  Watson 
family  to  taki*  a  stroll  aloiij?  llroailway,  and  (inisli  the  holiday  piir- 
cliasi'H,  llllin*  the  family  stoekiugs ;  but  his  wife's  oidy  sister,  livin' 
in  Ihirlem,  was  taken  (jiiite  sick  ;  and  the  wife  was  eompelled  to  pay 
lier  a  visit  of  niorey,  wiiile  the  home  was  to  he  looked  after  liy  the 
liushuud  and  father.  The  wife  woidd  fain  have  taken  him  with  lier ; 
imt,  one  of  the  children  lueing  too  unwell,  he  was  left  iiehind  to 
superintend  the  nursin*.  Christmas  Eve  came  ;  and  a  lonely,  dismal 
t've  it  was,  —  the  wife  and  mother  away  from  home,  at  the  bedside  of 
her  sick  sister  ;  the  husband  and  father  seated  in  his  room  alone,  with 
no  company  liut  the  hired  girl  and  his  sleeping  or  sick  children. 
Hours  passed  on :  air.l  suddenly  an  idea  flashed  across  George 
Watson's  mind;  a  point  about  his  "  infallihle  system,"  that  iiatl 
liitiierto  eseapt'd  liim,  now  occurred  to  him.  Suddenly,  all  that  had 
heen  unfortunate  to  him,  or  mysterious  in  the  system,  seemed  to  he 
explained  away,  as  if  by  magic  or  inspiration.  lie  saw  a  way  to- 
infallibly  heat  and  break  the  faro-bank  at  last.  A  fortune  lay 
witiiin  his  grasp,  if  he  could  get  an  opportunity  to  try  his  newly 
discovered,  almost  divinely  inspired,  "  point."  He  had  one  hundred 
dollars  in  his  pocket :  it  was  enough  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a 
fortune,  if  ho  could  buck  against  the  tiger  with  it  that  ui<rlit.  l?ut 
tiicre  was  his  sick  child  :  he  could  not  leave  her  in  the  sole  care  of 
the  hired  girl.  •But  just  then  a  kindly,  motherly  neighbor  dropped 
in,  —  a  friend  of  his  wife's.  It  was  his  golden  opportunity,  and  he 
seized  it.  He  left  his  household  and  his  child  in  her  experienced 
care,  and  went  into  the  streets  in  a  fever  of  excitement  and  anticipa- 
tion. With  one  hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket,  he  walked  hastily  to 
81H  Broadw.ay,  then  the  great  "Gamblers'  game"  of  the  city  of 
New  York,  and  rang  the  hell.  The  colored  man  in  waiting  admitted 
him.    He  knew  him  of  old,  and  welcomed  him  with  a  smile ;  and  in 


146  "818   BROADWAY." 

a  few  minutea  he  was  buckin'  against  the  tiger  and  the  new  point  in 
his  infallible  system.  His  one  hundred  dollars  became  several  thou- 
sands, and  he  was  wild  with  joy.  His  system  worked  at  last ;  he 
would  be  a  rich  man  erelong ;  it  was  a  glorious  Christmas  J>e 
indeed !  Meanwhile,  with  a  presentiment  of  evil,  the  wife  and 
mother  had  suddenly  left  her  sister's  bedside,  and  had  returned 
home.  Her  worst  fears  were  realized :  her  husband  was  gone  ;  and 
a  terrible  instinct  told  her  where  he  had  gone  to,  and  what  he  had 
gone  for.  She  had  in  times  past  learned  by  sad  experience  all  his 
gamin'  haunts,  and  she  knew  that  of  'em  all,  his  chief  favorite, 
the  first  place  he  would  strike  would  bo  No.  818.  She  was  sick 
herself,  —  footsore,  heartsore.  She  had  ibeen  troubled  witli  several 
attacks  lately  of  heart  disease,  which  sh-i  had  kept  quiet  about 
for  fear  of  alarming  her  husband.  It  was  a  bitter  cold  night,  and  it 
was  beginning  to  snow :  it  would  be  a  stormy  night  and  a  wild 
Christmas  morning,  but  she  did  not  hesitate  one  moment. 

Kissing  her  unconscious  children,  leavin'  them  in  the  charge  of 
her  kind-hearted  neighbor,  who  vainly  endeavored  to  dissuade  her 
from  going  out,  she  again  started  out  in  the  snow-storm,  and  trudged 
wearily  along  until  she  reacheel  the  door  of  No.  818.  She  was  still 
a  pretty  woman,  though  faded  and  jaded ;  and  men  looked  at  her 
curiously  and  impertinently,  as  she  walked  along  through  dark, 
though  whitening,  streets  ;  the  young  men  evln  turned,  followed  her, 
and  accosted  her  with  an  impudent  leer  ;  but  she  took  no  heed  wiiat- 
ever.  She  reached  the  door  of  the  gamblin'-hell,  the  best-known 
place  of  i*:3  kind  in  the  United  States,  and  stopped  there,  just  as  if 
any  thin'  could  be  accomplished  by  her  stopping  out  there  in  the 
■dark  and  in  the  cold.  i      .  ,        - 

It  may  have  been,  that  had  she  pulled  the  bell  of  818  just  then,  and 
asked  for  her  husband  while  her  husband  was  winning  thousands, 
.«he  might  have  had  some  chance  given  her  to  get  at  him,  and  to  get 
him  away ;  but  she  did  not  have  the  nerve  to  do  that  then  ;  all  her 
strength  seemed  to  have  deserted  her  at  the  gamblin'-hell's  portal. 
All  she  did  was  to  wring  her  hands,  and  moan,  and  walk  up  and 
down  Broadway,  and  wait,  wait,  wait,  in  the  snow  and  cold,  as  if 


GEORGE   WATSON'S  "SYSTEM."  147 

waiting  could  do  any  earthly  good.  At  last,  chilled  to  the  bone,  she 
grew  desperate,  and  ascended  the  steps,  pulled  the  bell  of  No.  818, 
but  so  feebly  that  it  could  not  be  heard  at  first ;  though  the  few 
passers-by,  knowin'  the  character  of  the  house,  wondered  at  seeing 
a  woman  there,  at  the  entrance  of  a  "hell:"  —  finally,  mustering 
courage,  she  gave  a  stro.iger  pull  at  the  bell ;  and  the  sleek  colored 
man  answered  the  summons  in  surprise.  Feebly  she  stammered  out 
the  name  of  her  husband,  and  asked  to  see  him  if  he  was  inside. 
The  colored  man  took  in  the  "situation"  at  once;  experience  of 
life  had  made  him  keen :  he  caught  the  name  upon  her  lips,  recog- 
nized it  at  once,  and  saw  that  the  wife  was  after  her  husband.  But 
it  would  never  do  to  interrupt  the  game  or  to  have  a  scene.  So  the 
colored  man  denied  all  knowledge  of  her  husband,  and,  telliu'  her  to 
go  somewhere  else,  shut  the  doer  in  her  face.  And  there,  upon  the 
snowed-upon  steps,  she  sat  that  Christmas  J^ve,  waitin'  in  front  of 
the  gilded  hell  for  her  husband  to  come  out,  and  who  did  not  come. 
Somehow,  she  was  not  interfered  with  by  any  policeman.  The  blue 
coats  and  brass  buttons  did  not  see  her  sitting  on  the  steps ;  their 
business  was  "  not"  to  see  any  thing  that  was  goin'  on  in  or  around 
818  ;  they  had  their  reasons.  But  the  sports  passin'  to  and  fro,  and 
going  out  and  in,  removed  her  from  the  steps.  Then  she  took  her 
station  near  by,  and  watched  and  waited,  gettin'  colder,  and  burning 
hot  with  fever  and  excitement  and  pain  within,  the  snow  falling 
around  and  upon  her,  —  this  was  the  faithful,  loving,  true  wife's 
Christmas  Eve!  Meanwhile  George  Watson's  "system  "  had  gone 
back  on  him  ;  his  new  point  had  played  him  false  ;  he  lost  all  that  he 
had  at  first  won  ;  and  about  midnight  he  had  lost  every  dollar  of  his 
original  hundred  dollars,  and  had  given  an  I.  O.  U.  for  one  hundred 
dollars  Ijcsides,  with  an  oath,  and  drainin'  a  glass  of  'orand;,  to  the 
dregs.  With  despair  in  his  soul,  and  not  one  cent  in  his  pocket,  he 
left  No.  818,'  and  walked  into  the  street  at  midnight,  at  the  legal 
beginning  of  Christmas  Day.  He  saw  a  woman  crouchin'  in  a 
corner.  Ho  stepped  toward  her  curiously,  sympathetically,  as 
towards  a  human  being  as  wretched  as  himself.  He  stooped  down 
to  lift  the  cloak  which  the  poor  woman  had  clasped  a"ouud  her, 


148  FAITHFUL   UNTO  DEATH. 

found  her  unconscious  with  the  cold,  and,  gazing  on  the  freezing, 
dying  woman,  saw  tliat  he  was  gazing  at  his  own  wife.  A  yell  that 
might  have  issued  from  a  lost  spirit  rang  through  the  street,  and 
startled  even  the  policemen  into  action.  The  woman  was  taken 
hastily  into  a  d-ug-store  ;  and  restoratives  were  applied,  but  in  vain. 
She  had  been  faithful  unto  death ;  for  in  the  vain  attempt,  somehow, 
some  way,  to  get  at  her  poor,  tempted  husband,  the  man  she  loved 
better  than  life,  she  had  frozen  to  death.  That  Christmas  morniug 
dawned  drearily  on  a  dead  woman  in  a  drug-store,  and  a  played-out 
gambler  who  bad  gone  mad. 


"  And  gazing  on  the  freezing,  dying  woman,  saw  that  he  was  gazing  at 
liis  own  wife  "  [p.  148]. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PKN-PANOBAMA  OF  NEW  YORK  (continued),  —  THE  METBOPOLITAW 
POLICE  AS  THEV  ABE. —THE  DETECTIVES.  —  THIKF-TAKEB8  IN  PETTI- 
COATS. —  HOW  CAPT.  JOHN  8.  YOUNO  CAUGHT  A  THIEF  BY  INSTINCT. — 
THE  TOMBS  PBISON,   AND   "MUBUEBEB'S  BOW." 

Intricate,  elaborate,  and  varied  as  is  crime  in  New  York, 
the  machinery  of  the  police-system  is  even  more  so.  It  is  not 
saying  too  much  to  assert  that  New  York,  v  ith  all  its  faults, 
is  the  best-governed  and  the  best-regulated  city  in  America. 
Being  the  largest  city  and  the  principal  seaport,  it  is  neces- 
sarily the  favorite  resort  of  abandoned  and  dissolute  characters, 
male  and  female ;  but  I  do  not  hesitate  to  assert,  and  I  am 
sustained  by  facts,  and  fortified  with  the  opinions  of  those  most 
qualified  to  form  an  opinion,  that,  considering  its  population, 
notwithstanding  its  enormous  criminal  class.  New  York  is  one 
of  the  most  orderly  cities  in  the  world,  and  its  police  among 
the  most  efficient. 

True,  ever  and  anon,  as  in  the  memorable  Forrest-Macready 
and  the  draft  riots,  the  roughs  will,  for  an  hour  or  a  day,  get 
the  upper  hand  of  the  authorities ;  and  scenes  of  bloodshed  and 
horror  will  ensue.  But,  as  a  rule,  the  city  is  peaceful,  orderly, 
well-behaved,  as  a  city,  though  it  contains  thousands  of  in- 
habitants who  are  otherwise. 

The  police,  too,  as  a  rule,  and  as  a  body  of  men,  are  skilled 
and  trusty:  with  all  his  human  faults,  the  New- York  police- 
man, like  the  New- York  fireman,  is  trained,  active,  and  reliable. 
But  still,  in  many — too  many — individual  cases,  he  is  unworthy 

149 


150  CRIME  AND  POLITICS. 

of  his  position,  —  is  either  tlie  creature  of  politicians,  or  the 
friend,  associate,  and  stipendiary  of  "  the  criminal  class  "  itself. 

It  is  not  saying  too  much  to  assert,  that,  if  the  New-York 
police  were  absolutely  and  entirely  honest  and  determined,  the 
Kew-York  criminals  would,  as  a  class,  cease  to  exist.  So  thor- 
ough is  the  police-system,  so  accurate  and  so  varied  are  their 
sources  of  information,  so  many  are  their  opportunities,  and 
so  great  are  their  powers,  that,  if  so  disposed,  the  New-York 
police  could  not  merely  diminish  New- York  crime,  —  they 
could  tvipe  it  out. 

Every  professional  criminal  is  known  to  the  police  authori- 
ties: every  haunt  of  crime  is  knov/n  to  them.  The  police 
have  a  list  of  every  gambling-house,  every  assignation-liouse, 
every  den  of  vice,  every  policy-shop,  etc.  If  they  want  a  rogue, 
they  know  just  when  and  where  to  put  the  finger  on  him. 

And  yet  "policy"  is  played  by  tens  of  thousands  in  this 
city,  in  defiance  of  the  law  ;  dens  of  vice  are  in  full  blast,  in 
defiance  of  the  law ;  hundreds  of  houses  are  devoted,  almost 
openly,  to  immoral  purposes,  in  defiance  of  the  law ;  men  daily 
and  nightly  gamble,  and  are  fleeced  by  gamblers,  in  defiance  of 
the  law;  and  an  army  of  thieves  prowl  through  the  city,  in 
defiance  of  the  law. 

Certainly,  under  such  circumstances,  while  giving  the  New- 
York  police  the  credit  for  what  it  really  does,  it  should  be  held 
censurable  for  what  it  really  and  deliberately  leaves  undone. 
One  of  the  great  faults,  the  glaring  evils,  in  the  practical 
workings  of  the  police-system  of  New  York,  is  the  connection 
—  the  shameful  connection  —  that  is  allowed  to  exist  between 
crime  and  politics.  A  well-known  thief  in  this  city  is,  and  has 
been  for  years,  a  prominent  politician  ,  and  his  "den  "  receives 
police  protection.  For  years  a  New- York  law-maker  and  con- 
gressman was  a  New-York  law-breaker  and  gambler.  And 
other  cases  in  point  could  be  cited.      '""'  -=.-'■?-- '-r-;^'. 


MONEY  AND   THE  POLICE.  151 

Tlie  intimate  connection  between  money  and  police  favor  ia 
another  kindred  and  crying  evil.  Rich  vice  is  seldora  inter- 
fered witli :  crime  that  pays  its  way  has  a  way  made  for  it,  and 
kept  open,  by  the  police ;  while  poverty  is  regarded  as,  in  itself, 
a  crime. 

Even  in  the  workings  of  New  York's  latest  patent  improve- 
ment, the  new  Dndley  Field  et  al.  penal  code,  the  distinction 
between  rich  and  poor  is  plainly  observed.  Some  Sundays  ago 
a  hard-working  woman,  a  widow,  with  three  children  to  sup- 
port, was  arrested  for  selling  some  trifles  on  the  sabbath;  while 
two  well-to-do  tlioatrical  managers  were  permitted  to  make 
hundreds  of  dollars  by  giving  Sunday  concerts,  —  concerts  in 
which  no  part  of  the  programme  was  "sacred,"  —  and  some 
twenty  rich  music-hall  and  saloon  keepers  fairly  coined 
"money"  in  exchange  for  music  and  liquor. 

Men,  rich  men,  brokers,  and  bankers,  or  pr>>minent  politi- 
cians, can  be  seen  any  night,  reeling  from  "  swell "  bar-rooms ; 
and  the  police  either  look  on,  laughing,  or  kindly  assist  the 
well-dressed  "reeler."  But  when  a  poor  man  is  found,  in  the 
streets  of  New  York,  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  then  there 
is  an  arrest,  a  cell,  a  fine,  or  the  island. 

Ay,  not  unfrequently  some  stranger,  when  seized  with  a  fit, 
is  taken,  not  to  a  doctor,  but  to  a  magistrate;  not  to  a  hospital, 
but  to  a  station-house ,  and  is  clubbed,  instead  of  cared  for. 

And  in  the  system  of  the  police-courts,  in  their  practical 
administration,  gross  evils  exist,  —  official  outrages  are  perpe- 
trated every  day,  —  and  police  blackmail  is  levied  upon  all 
who  will  or  must  endure  it. 

Fines  are  often  levied  which  have  no  warrant  in  law :  bogus 
or  straw-bail  is  often  offered,  and  received,  for  a  considera- 
tion. Police-court  lawyers  are  not  seldom  simply  police-court 
sharpers,  and  the  administration  of  "justice"  is  sometimes 
notoriously  unjust.  .    *  ;,     ' 


162  TnE  POLICEMAN'S  CLUB. 

But,  witli  all  its  faults,  the  Metropolitan  PoHce-SyHtem  Is  one 
of  the  most  deserving  and  beneficial  of  metropolitan  institu- 
tions ;  and  the  metropolitan  police  are  justly  the  pride  of  New 
York.  The  old  police-system  was  a  failure,  —  it  failed  to  pro- 
tect ;  but,  from  the  time  when  the  State  Legislature  created 
♦'a  Metropolitan  District"  (consisting  of  the  cities  of  New 
York  and  Hrooklyn,  the  counties  of  New  York,  Kings,  Rich- 
mond, and  Westchester,  embracing  a  circuit  of  about  thirty 
miles,  controlled  by  a  commission  of  five,  the  mayors  of  New 
York  and  lirooklyn  being  members  of  the  board;,  the  police- 
service  has  steadily  improved. 

As  a  practical  working-force,  the  metropolitan  police  may 
date  its  efficiency  from  the  days  of  the  celebrated  John  A. 
Kennedy,  who,  though  he  was  something  of  a  despot,  was  the 
best  police-officer,  the  very  best  police-superintendent,  New- 
York  City  has  ever  seen. 

With  its  officials,  inspectors,  captains,  sergeants,  patrolmen, 
doormen,  special  policemen,  etc.,  the  New-York  police  comprises 
an  army  of  considerably  over  two  thousand  men,  neatly  uni- 
formed, armed  with  clubs  and  revolvers,  and  thoroughly  drilled. 
The  discipline  is  perfect. 

The  policeman's  club  is  a  terrible  weapon :  the  "  rouglis  " 
dread  its  certainty  of  crushing  or  maiming  more  than  they 
fear  the  chancing  of  a  pistol-shot.  And  it  is  sometimes  terribly 
abused.  Awful  to  state,  men  —  peaceable,  though  silly,  sick 
or  intoxicated,  comparatively  or  actually  innocent  men  —  have 
been  clubbed  to  death  in  the  streets  of  New  York  by  the  New- 
York  police.  While,  at  the  same  time,  the  handsome  features, 
splendid  phi/sique,  and  gallant  politeness,  of  "the  Broadway 
Squad,"  who  escort,  or  even  carry  on  occasion,  ladies  over  the 
principal  crossings,  has  become  proverbial. 

But  probably  the  most  interesting  department  of  the  police- 
force  (to  the  general  reader)  is  the  "  detective  "  branch  there- 


rETTICOATED  DETECTIVES.  163 

of.  The  ninilevn  detective  figures  largely  in  the  modern  i)lny 
and  novel,  and  the  "  story -pr.perrt  "  arc  full  of  him.  Yet  ""ew 
are  familiar  with  ihofactn  about  detectives. 

Time  was  when  the  whole  detective  force  in  New- York  City 
was  comprised  in  the  person  of  one  man,  —  old  Jacob  Iluys. 
Gradually,  as  the  city  increased  in  size  and  crime,  a  separate 
organization  of  detectives  was  formed  :  tlien  organizations 
were  multiplied,  till  to-day  there  are  some  fifteen  or  sixteen 
distinct,  and  sometimes  conflicting,  varieties  of  detectives. 
There  are  the  central-office  detectives,  the  local-ward  detec- 
tives, private  detectives,  hotel  detectives,  insurance  detectives, 
divorce  detectives,  United-States  detectives,  and  fenuile  de- 
tectives. 

As  regards  petticoated  detectives,  a  volume,  and  a  very 
entertaining  though  not  edifying  volume,  could  bo  written. 
Men  suspect  men  ;  they  watch  each  other  as  closely  as  two 
strange  dogs,  and  in  as  unfriendly  a  manner;  but  they  are 
generally  off  their  guard  with  women.  Besides,  women  know 
the  weak  points  of  men  better  than  men  do  themselves.  And, 
for  both  these  reasons,  they  make  capital  detectives.  In  France 
they  have  long  been  found  useful ;  and,  from  the  days  of 
Richelieu,  the  most  successful  spies  have  ever  been  females. 
But,  in  our  sober  country,  the  idea  of  ever  employing  women 
in  secret  service  has  all  the  force  of  a  novelty.  In  two  vari- 
eties of  cases  females  are  peculiarly  valuable  :  the  first  of  these 
is  in  the  event  of  bank-robberies,  especially  when  suspicion 
falls  upon  the  clerk  of  the  institution.  Male  detectives  are 
set  to  work  at  the  outset:  but  sometimes  the  suspected  clerk 
has  skilfully  covered  up  his  tracks,  and  defies  investigatlun ;  or 
else  he  watches  every  man  who  approaches  him,  in  whatever 
guise,  like  a  hawk ;  and  all  efforts  to  win  the  knowledge  of  his 
secrets  are  in  vain.  At  this  stage  of  the  game  a  woman  is 
sent  for,  generally  a  pretty,  smart,  well-dressed  woman,  who  is 


164  "  Tax  PERSONALS." 

» 

not  over-scrupulous ;  and  the  matter  is  placed  in  her  hands. 
Sometunos  she  proceeds  directly  to  the  point,  h'lt  generally 
finesse  is  resorted  to ;  and  it  is  so  contrived  that  tiie  ac(;[uuiiit- 
anceship  of  the  i'ulr  detective  and  her  intended  victiui  shall  ho 
brouj^ht  about  in  some  romantic  mauner,  removed  from  the 
usual  beaten  track  of  common  life,  and  invested  at  the  outset 
with  some  of  the  charm  of  adventure  or  ronmnce,  so  as  to 
utterly  divert  suspicion  of  her  real  design.  Ascertaining  from 
general  inquiry  the  character  of  the  bank-clerk  whom  she  is  to 
track,  she  resorts  to  the  *'  Personals "  of  the  newspapers,  to 
arrange  an  interview  with  him.  Thus,  if  this  clerk  be,  as  the 
majority  of  sucli  clerks  are,  an  atlmirer  of  the  sex,  a  gay  hoy, 
the  fair  detective  contrives  one  day  to  meet  him,  in  the  stage 
for  instance,  attracts  his  attention,  and,  at  the  same  time,  notes 
his  person  and  attire.  A  day  or  two  after,  in  one  of  the  morn- 
ing journals,  an  item  appears,  homewhat  to  this  effect:  "  li  the 
tall  young  gontlenian,  with  dark  hair,  heavy  side-whiskers, 
dressed  in  such-and-such  a  suit,  or  with  such-and-such  a  dia- 
mond ring  or  pin  (as  the  case  may  bo),  who  got  into  the  stage 

at Street,  and   noticed     he  young  lady  in  red  who  sat 

opposite,  will  write  to Street,  or  call  at ,  he  may  hoar 

something  that  may  please  him  (or  hear  of  the  lady,  or  form  an 
agreeable  acquaintance,  or  whatever  other  wording  may  he 
given  to  the  concluding  paragraph  of  the  personal).  Of 
course,  "the  tall  gentleman  with  dark  hair,"  etc.,  sees  this 
item,  or  it  is  so  arranged  that  his  attention  is  called  to  it  at 
once.  Of  course,  also,  he  regards  the  affair  as  a  good  joke,— 
a  capital  love-adventure.  Of  course,  he  answers  or  calls,  as 
directed,  and  either  at  once,  or  step  by  step,  forms  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  fair  deceiver.  Having  now  put  her  party 
under  the  most  favorable  auspices,  the  game  is  at  her  disposal. 
By  her  art,  or  her  beauty,  or  probably  by  both,  —  for  females 
of  her  profession  are  not  apt  to  stick  at  trifles, —  she  obtains 


TEE  "STATION  D"  DODOE.  155 

sooner  or  Inter  hia  confidence;  slie  surrenders,  perhaps,  herself: 
he  smienders  more  than  liiinself,  —  Iiis  secret, — and  is  ut  ht-r 
mercy.  Having  nmdo  hor  points,  and  gutten  her  man  "dead 
tu  rights,"  she  phices  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  nor  male  u> 
ciutes ;  and  the  affair  is  settled  hy  arrest  or  by  a  compromise. 
In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  by  the  latter. 

A  recent  case  occurred  in  a  Broadway  bank,  where  the  sus- 
pected clerk  was  a  scion  of  a  noble  family.  A  pretty  girl  was 
put  on  his  track,  managed  to  form  his  frieriJship  through  the 
"Station  D"  dodge,  infatuated  her  "man"  with  her  charms, 
and  obtained,  not  only  possession  of  his  guilty  secret,  but  also 
eight  thousand  dollars  of  the  money  taken  from  the  bank. 
The  matter  was  finally  huslied  up  by  a  settlement;  and  the 
pretty  detective  netted  for  her  services,  in  seven  weeks,  the 
handsome  sum  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

Women  are  also  used  as  car-detectives  on  the  city  passenger- 
railways  with  advantage.  It  sometimes  happens  that  the 
thieves  and  the  conductors  are  in  partnership ;  and,  in  course 
of  time,  they  become  viognizant  of  the  personnel  of  the  regular 
male  detectives,  whose  influence  is  hereby  neutralized.  In 
these  cases  the  services  of  the  softer  sex  becomes  desiderata. 

One  of  the  most  quiet,  and  therefore  most  valuable,  of  the 
feniale  detectives,  is  a  young  woman  called  "Mary  Gilsey,"  or 
"  White  Mary,"  from  the  fairness  of  her  complexion.  Mary  is 
tall  and  slender,  and  has  the  most  dovelikt,  not  to  say  stupid, 
expression  of  countenance.  She  is  the  last  woman  in  the  world 
whom  nine  out  of  ten  would  select  for  her  profession,  and  yet 
she  is  a  superb  detective.  Keen,  quick,  possessed  of  a  memory 
exceedingly  retentive,  she  never  forgets  a  face,  a  place,  or  a 
name,  and  has  the  faculty  of  seeing  through  a  stone  wall 
farther  than  any  woman  of  her  age.  She  is  but  twenty-one, 
and  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York.  In  Paris  she  would 
make  a  fortune  in  a  year.    In  point  of  character,  also,  Mary  is 


166  THE  DIVORCE  DETECTIVE. 

superior  to  the  average  of  her  profession ;  being,  as  far  as  per- 
sonal purity  is  concerned,  irreproachable. 

The  divorce  detective  has  become,  of  late,  "  a  social  evil  "  iu 
New  York.  He  or  she  is  simply  disgusting,  disgraceful ;  but 
the  fact  that  such  a  creature  is  in  demand — in  constantly 
increasing  demand  —  in  our  greatest  city,  is  in  itself  a  sign  of 
the  times. 

The  modus  operandi  in  the  case  of  a  divorce  detective  is 
somewhat  after  this  fashion :  a  wife  suspects  her  husband,  or 
vice  versa.  Husband  or  wife,  however,  is  careful  to  cover  up 
his  or  her  tracks,  and  keeps  shady  as  to  "the  little  outside 
arrangement."  Wife  or  husband  sends  for  a  detective,  and 
the  matter  is  arranged.  The  first  question  with  the  detective 
is,  of  necessity,  the  pay.  Some  of  them  are  in  the  habit  of 
undertaking  the  job  at,  say,  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars ,  others 
charge  five  dollars  per  night,  or  ten  dollars  per  day,  during 
the  continuance  of  the  investigations ;  others,  again,  refuse  to 
bind  themselves  to  any  specific  sum,  but  will  be  guided  by 
circumstances'.  But  all  agree  on  insisting  upon  two  cardinal 
points,  —  a  certain  amoun<-  of  money,  cash  down,  to  bind  the 
bargain,  and  the  payment  of  all  incidental  or  contingent  ex- 
penses. In  this  latter  item  lies  the  great  placer.  The  detec- 
tive who  draws  but  ten  dollars  a  day  salary  may  obtain  from 
his  principal  twenty  dollars  a  day  for  his  hotel  expenses,  and 
outlays  for  wines  and  et  cceterub,  necessary  by  his  pursuit  of 
knowledge  under  difficulties,  especially  if  the  party  he  is 
dodging  be  at  all  luxuriously  or  fashionably  inclined.  And 
there  is  no  way  by  which  the  principal  can  help  being  "  bled," 
if  his  agent  or  detective  chooses  to  bleed  him,  which  he  usually 
does.  One  detective  obtained  from  his  employer,  a  wealthy 
merchant  down  town,  thirty-two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in 
four  months,  part  as  salary,  and  part  as  "  contingent  expenses," 
in  the  tracking  of  the  merchant's  suspected  wife :  and,  after 


A  "PECULIAR"  BUSINESS.  WT 

fingering  tlie  money,  the  detective  one  day  coolly  advised  the 
raercliant  to  abandon  the  undertaking;  as  his  "investigations" 
had  convinced  him  —  the  detective  —  that  either  the  lady  was 
as  innocent  as  an  angel,  or  else  as  cunning  as  the  Devil, — 
which  oracular  opinion  was  all  the  value  received  by  the  mer- 
chant for  his  thirty-two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Very  often 
the  detective  does  nothing  whatever  but  drav^  his  money,  and 
hold  his  tongue ;  and,  quite  as  frequently,  he  will  make  himself 
known  to  the  other  party,  and  thus  make  a  good  thing  of  it 
from  both  sides.  But,  even  when  legitimately  employed,  the 
divorce-detective's  style  of  doing  business  is,  to  say  the  least, 
peculiar.  \t  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  he  is  at  all  kinds 
of  places,  ir  all  sorts  of  disguises,  under  all  varieties  of  pre- 
tences, and  with  all  classes  of  persons. 

Detectives  are  some  of  them  misnamed.  Some  of  them 
never  "  detect "  any  thing  or  anybody :  they  are  really  too 
lazy  or  too  stupid.  Others  are  really  too  "  smart "  to  (detect : 
they  find  it  pays  them  better  to  protect  and  to  blackmail.  But 
among  the  detective  force  are  to  be  found  to-day  some  of  the 
keenest  and  most  upright  men  in  the  metropolis ;  and  the  his- 
tory of  the  detectives  of  New  York  presents  prominently  the 
names  of  two  men  equal  in  ability  to  Vidocq  himself,  —  the 
late  Chief  Matsell  and  Capt.  John  S.  Young. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  cleverness  of  Young,  and  as  convey- 
ing an  idea  of  the  life  and  experience  of  New- York  detectives, 
let  me  narrate  the  following  interesting  and  characteristic 
episode. 

One  fine  March  day,  when  Kennedy  was  superintendent  of 
police,  and  John  S.  Young  was  one  of  the  controlling  spirits 
of  the  police  detectives,  the  latter  individual  was  walking  down 
Broadway,  when  he  suddenly  bethought  him  that  a  certain  fine 
French  clock  which  he  had  at  home  required  repairing.  He 
also  bethougat  him  that  he  had  been  recommended  by  a  friend 


158      AN  EPISODE  IN  THE  CAREER  OF  CAPT    YOUNr 

to  employ  the  services  of  an  experienced  watch  and  clock 
maker,  who  did  business  on  a  side  street,  *near  Broadway,  ii? 
the  precise  neighborhood  where,  at  this  moment,  he  happen. tl 
to  be. 

Turning  down  this  side  street,  forthwith  Young  soon  found 
himself  at  the  clockmaker's,  who  occupied  a  shop  in  the  re-r 
of  a  loan-office;  the  proprietor  of  which  latter  establishment 
constantly  required  the  watchmaker's  services  in  repairing  the 
watches  and  clocks  which  were  constantly,  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, deposited  either  temporarily  or  permanently  at  his  office. 

The  door  between  the  loan-office  and  the  clockmaker's  hap- 
pened to  be  open  at  the  time  of  Young's  visit ;  and,  while  the 
latter  was  chatting  with  the  mechanic,  he  saw,  through  the 
open  door,  a  man  enter  the  loan-office,  and  commence  a  conver- 
sation with  the  proprietor. 

The  man  was  of  medium  height,  dark  in  complexion,  swarthy, 
strongly  built,  with  restless  black  eyes,  which  were  small,  sharp, 
and  furtive  in  their  glances;  and  his  whole  appearance  was 
rather  unprepossessing. 

He  wore  what  are  called  "store-clothes,"  —  a  frock-coat,  a 
badly  fitting  vest,  and  large  pantaloons,  and  seemed  to  be  un- 
easy in  his  apparel, — just  as  uncomfortable  as  a  sailor  would 
be  in  a  suit  of  civilian's  clothes  on  shore.  His  age  seemed  to 
be  about  thirty-eight  years,  and  his  face  was  as  clean  shaven 
as  a  lad's.  ■        ..  :       ;.  '      ,. 

The  moment  John  Young  set  his  experienced  eyes  on  the 
man,  he  said  to  himself,  "  That  fellow  is  crooked :  he  has  been 
doing  time."  Which  means,  translated  into  ordinary  parlance, 
"  That  fellow  is  a  professional  rogue,  and  has  been  serving  a 
term  in  State  prison." 

Just  as  spilors  can  tell  a  seafaring  man  at  a  glance;  just  as 
soldiers  recognize  military  men  in  a  moment;  just  as  journal- 
ists understand .  one  another  in  an  instant ;  just  as  women,  by 


A  DETECTIVE'S  "INSTINCT.''*  ^  159 

instinct,  comprehend  the  mysteries  of  other  women,  —  so  do 
detectives  and  thieves  recognize  instinctively  eacli  other. 

But  in  this  case  the  rogue  did  not  see  tlie  detective ;  though 
the  detective,  from  his  post  of  observation  in  the  clockmaker's 
shop,  keenly  watched  the  rogue,  and  heard  him  say,  finally, 
to  the  proprietor  of  the  loan-office, —  i,        ... 

"  To-night,  then,  at  half-past  six."  .  , :      .  , 

He  then  took  his  departure.       ,    -.,    . 

"  Do  3  ou  know  that  man  ? "  asked  Young  of  the  keeper  of 
the  loan-office. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  he  has  been  making  some  inqui- 
ries about  our  way  of  doing  business,  and  says  he  will  call  again 
at  half-past  six  to-night." 

Young  said  nothing  more,  but,  as  he  left  the  loan-shop,  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  would  follow  up  this  case,  commencing  his 
operations  at  "  half-past  six  to-night." 

He  had  no  charge  whatever  to  make,  and  he  knew  of  none 
whatever  that  had  been  made,  against  this  man;  he  had  no 
well-grounded  cause  for  suspicion  of  him ;  there  was  no  accu- 
sation pending  against  him,  so  there  could  be  no  warrant  pro- 
cured for  his  arrest.  He  was  a  perfect  stranger.  Yet  John  S. 
Young  at  once  made  iip  his  mind  that  he  was  a  rogue,  that  he 
was  even  now  engaged  in  a  rogue's  work,  and  that  he  (Young) 
would  at  once  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  rogue's  work,  pre- 
vent its  accomplishment,  and  arrest  the  rogue. 

Detectives  have  often  to  act  in  this  way  with  just  as  little 
apparent  reason  and  authority,  —  taking  their  chance  of  being 
sanctioned  by  the  results,  —  acting  on  the  principle  that  "  the 
end  justifies  the  means." 

About  six  o'clock  that  evening  three  detectives  —  Young,  in 
company  with  detectives  Elder  and  McCord  —  were  hanging 
around  a  store  in  the  vicinity  of  the  loan-office.  •-»».. M-fi<.,.(-.i  ..n.<> 

About  six  and  a  half  o'clock  the  mysterious  stranger,  in  the 


160  THE  "  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGEIi." 

"store-clothes,"  entered  the  loan-office  with  a  small  bundle. 
He  remained  within  a  little  while,  and  then  came  out  without 
the  bundle. 

Young  went  into  the  loan-office  after  the  other  had  departed, 
and  had  a  few  minutes'  talk  with  the  proprietor. 

The  mysterious  stranger  had  merely  pledged  some  rather 
ordinary  articles  of  clothing  which  he  had  no  further  use  for,  — 
"  Merely,"  he  said,  "  to  get  used  to  the  way  of  doing  business 
here,  preparatory  to  some  large  operation  in  this  line." 

Having  obtained  this  much,  which  was  very  little.  Young  fol- 
lowed his  two  associates,  who  had  quietly  turned,  and  followed 
the  mysterious  stranger  down  the  side  street  into  the  Bowery. 

Having  gained  this  popular  thoroughfare,  —  the  Broadway  of 
the  east  side, — the  mysterious  stranger  slowly  sauntered  along, 
stopping  in  at  several  bar-rooms  to  enjoy  a  solitary  drink. 

Finally  he  turned  into  a  first-class  country  tavern,  or  third- 
class  hotel,  near  Chatham  Street,  and,  walking  up  to  the  office, 
asked  for  the  key  of  room  No.  40,  which  was  handed  to  him. 

The  three  detectives  —  who  had  ere  this  separated,  McCord 
and  Elder  keeping  together,  and  ^oung  waddling  along  alone 
after  his  own  fashion,  but  who  had  never  for  a  moment  lost 
sight  of  their  man  —  were  now  at  his  heels,  and  ascended  the 
stairs  after  him. 

At  last,  just  as  the  mysterious  stranger  had  unlocked  the 
door  of  his  room,  and  had  entered  it,  three  persons  came  upon 
him,  and  entered  the  room  with  him. 

He  looked  surprised  at  this  intrusion,  as  well  he  might. 

"  What  do  you  want,"  he  cried,  "  and  who  are  you  ?  " 

*'  You  will  find  that  out  before  we  leave  you,"  said  Young, 
acting  as  spokesman.     "  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"What  the  D ^1  is  that  your  business?"  replied  the  man 

thus  unceremoniously  interrogated. 

"  Ah !  you  know  what  our  business  is  with  you  well  enough, 


"WHAT'S   YOUR  MONNIKERf"  Ml 

my  friend,"  said  Young,  in  the  most  familiar  manner  in  the 
world,  as  if  he  and  the  mysterious  stranger  had  been  acquainted 
since  their  infancy.  "You  have  quite  a  nice  trunk  thereof 
its  kind,"  continued  he,  pointing  to  a  large  black  packing- 
trunk  in  the  corner  of  the  room  near  the  bed.  This  trunk  was 
a  four-foot,  covered  with  black  canvas,  and  bound  with  sheet- 
iron  straps,  —  such  a  trunk  as  merchants  use  in  shipping  cer- 
tain kinds  of  merchandise  to  the  West. 

"  Well,  \  hat  of  it  ?  "  growled  the  mysterious  stranger. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Young,  "only  I  want  to  see  what  you 
have  in  that  trunk." 

"  That's  my  affair,"  replied  the  man. 

"I  will  invoice  it  then,"  replied  the  officer.  "Come,  let's 
have  no  nonsense.  What's  your  monniker?"  (the  thieves' 
slang  for  name). 

"What's  your  racket?"  asked  Elder  ("  racket  "  is  slang  for 
line  of  business). 

"  You  don't  look  like  a  bolster  "  (a  detective's  phrase  for  shop- 
lifter), chimed  in  McCord. 

The  stranger  tried  to  assume  a  puzzled  look,  as  if  to  con- 
vey the  idea  that  all  this  slang  was  unfamiliar  to  his  ears ;  but 
the  attempt  was  a  failure.  Evidently  the  fellow  understood 
every  word,  and  Young  told  him  so. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  home  ?  "  continued  Young  (i.e., 
how  long  since  you  have  come  back  from  State  prison). 

"About  five  months,"  remarked  the  man  reluctantly,  but 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  had  made  up  his  mind  that  there 
was  no  further  use  in  trying  to  hide  his  real  character. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  house  ?  "  asked  Young.       ; 

The  man  remembered  that  his  interrogator  could  readily 
obtain  the  facts  on  this  point  from  the  clerks  in  the  office ;  so 
he  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  told  the  exact  truth. 

"  Two  weeks,"  he  replied. 


162  '  DETECTIVE' S  "  BLUFF." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  asked  Elder. 

"From  —  from  Baltimore,"  he  answered. 

lie  lied ;  and  Elder  and  the  rest  knew  it,  and  he  knew  that 
they  knew  it. 

"  Let's  see  the  inside  of  that  trunk,"  said  McCord. 

Now,  an  ordinary  man,  an  innocent  man,  would  at  once  have 
demanded  to  see  the  warrant,  if  any,  upon  which  these  three 
men  who  had  forced  themselves  into  his  presence  acted. 

Such  a  man  would  have  demanded  to  know  of  wliat  he  was 
charged,  and  by  whom.       •..,        •,;        .»      m;  ;    ;        i.. 

In  this  case  the  three  detectives  could  have  done  nothing 
whatever,  for  they  had  not  the  slightest  shadow  of  legal  au- 
thority for  what  they  were  undertaking. 

But  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  a  "  queer  "  or  "  crooked ''  man,  a 
professional  rogue,  that  he  recognizes  the  officers  of  the  law  by 
some  undefined  instinct,  and  seldom  insists  upon  their  "pro- 
ducing their  papers."  He  will  avoid,  defy,  or  dodge  them  as 
long  and  as  well  as  he  can ;  but,  when  finally  brought  to  bay, 
he  seldom  avails  himself  of  merely  legal  or  formal  technicalities 
with  the  officers  of  justice,  though,  of  course,  he  will  fight  the 
judge,  lawyers,  or  juries,  the  machinery  of  the  courts,  with  all 
his  might  and  skill.  .   •  .      ■    i    >,■    »     ;  ;     .;  %  ,y 

Knowing  this,  the  three  detectives  calculated,  that,  once  hav- 
ing impressed  themselves  upon  the  mind  of  "  the  man  "  in  their 
true  characters,  he  would  demand  no  papers,  and  they  had 
calculated  correctly. 

The  mysterious  stranger  (who  was  gradually  becoming  less 
"  mysterious "')  made  no  point  about  their  having  no  warrant, 
Jbut  merely  tried  to  "bluff"  his  unwelcome  visitors,  telling 
them  that  he  had  no  key  to  his  trunk  \  he  had  lost  it ,  the 
trunk  only  contained  his  own  clothes,  etc. 

Finally  he  produced  the  key  from  his  side-pocket,  and  opened 
the  trunk. 


THIEVES'   SLANG.  1G3 


On  top,  sure  onough,  were  some  clotlies  and  some  dirty  linen ; 
but  the  greater  portion  of  the  trunk 'underneath  was  occupied 
with  silks  of  the  richest  quality  and  choicest  pattern. 

"  This  is  'swag  silk  '  "  (stolen  silk),  said  f  oung. 

"  No,  it  ain't,"  said  the  man  curtly. 

But  he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  expect  his  companions  to 
believe  him.     And  they  didn't. 

"  Where  did  you  get  these  silks?"  asked  McCord. 

"  I  bought  them  at  auction  in  Baltimore,"  replied  the  stran- 
ger. •■  •  ''■:'■''-  ■  """  ■  ■' '''  ■• 

"Got  'em  cheap,  didn't  you?"  Jisked  Elder  significantly,    -.i 

"  Yes,  I  did :  I  got  'em  at  a  bargain,"  answered  the  man ; 
"  and  I  have  brought  them  on  here,  hoping  to  sell  them  at  a 
fiiir  profit." 

"To  a  ' fence ' "  (a  receiver  of  stolen  goods),  " eh ? "  chimed 
in  McCord.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  my  friend,"  continued  the 
detective,  "you  r-^me  near  making  a  great  mistake.  Our  friend 
at  the  loan-ofiice,  whom  you  met  at  half-past  six  to-night,  is  not 
the  man  for  your  purpose :  he  is  not  a  '  fence.'  You  might 
spare  yourself  any  further  trouble  in  that  quarter."    "  «      -       > 

"  In  fact,  you  needn't  take  any  more  trouble  in  any  quarter," 
said  Young ;  "  for  we  will  take  charge  of  these  goods  for  you 
from  this  minute."  i.r  ■■,.-.    u  t  .  ■  »  •   ;     .      ; 

"  Devilish  kind  in  you,  to  be  sure,"  grpwled  the  man ;  "  but 
1  always  like  to  handle  my  own  property."  .    -, ,>i  . ,:  ,     , 

"  Or  the  property  of  other  people,"  added  Young.  "  Come, 
no  nonsense,  now.  Where  did  you  get  these  silks?  You 
have  no  'stiffs'"  (papers  or  bills)  "to  show  for  them,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  No :  I  lost  the  bills  and  receipts,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"  Oh  I  I  thought  so,"  said  Young,  "  but  it  don't  matter  to  us. 
We  will  try  to  find  out  the  real  owner  of  these  silks.  Come 
'iow,  no  nonsense,  I  tell  you  "  (as  the  man  began  to  look  ugly). 


1G4  "  CORNEItED  AT  LAST.*' 

*'  We  are  officers  from  police  headquarters.  You  know  us  by 
th'i  time,  and  we  want  jou  and  this  trunk.  So  don't  make 
any  fuss,  or  it  will  bo  the  worse  for  you." 

Young,  as  he  spoke,  stood  between  the  man  and  the  door  of 
tlio  room.  Elder  stood  by  the  one  window,  and  McCord  was 
sentry  over  the  trunk.  Each  one  of  the  three  looked  like  a 
man  who  understood  what  he  was  about,  and  meant  business. 
There  was  no  escape  for  the  hunted-dowu  man,  aud  he  sur- 
rendered sullenly. 

*'  Do  as  you  d d  please  !  "  he  muttered,  and  they  fulfilled 

his  instructions.  In  a  few  minutes  a  carriage,  containing  the 
three  officers  and  their  prey  inside,  and  the  big  black  trunk  on 
the  rumble  outside,  was  driven  to  police  headquarters. 

At  that  time  there  were  a  few  rooms,  or  cells,  for  the  deten- 
tion of  suspected  persons,  —  parties  strongly  suspected,  though 
not  positively  charged  with  crime,  —  located  on  the  same  floor 
of  the  police  headquarters'  building  as  the  detective  office,  and 
to  the  rear  of  the  latter. 

These  rooms  were  as  secure  as  the  cells  down-stairs,  but 
more  comfortable ;  and  into  one  of  these  the  "  man  with  the 
trunk,"  as  he  was  now  styled,  was  placed. 

He  preserved  a  sullen  reticence,  and  seemed  to  regret  that 
he  had  not  made  at  least  a  show  of  resistance  before  allowing 
himself  to  be  taken. 

Meanwhile  a  consultation  was  held  in  the  detective  office 
concerning  the  new  prisoner,  and  especially  concerning  the 
silks  which  had  been  found  in  his  trunk.  That  they  had  been 
stolen,  there  was  no  manner  of  doubt ;  but  when  and  where,  — 
that  was  the  question  :  all  the  newspapers  and  documents  were 
carefully  conned  which  in  any  way  related  to  past  robberies 
in  New  York  of  stores  and  silks,  but  nothing  was  found  which 
in  any  way  corresponded  with  the  facts  of  this  case.  At  last, 
after  many  pshaws,  and  not  a  few  muttered  "  condemnations, 


"A   TWO-AND-A-JIALF  STRETCU."  1G5 

spelled  with  a  d ,"  John  Young  lighted  on  a  robbery  of 

Hilks  in  a  store  in  Philadelphia  in  which  some  fifteen  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  goods  had  been  stolen,  and  in  which  no  clew 
had  been  obtained,  either  of  the  goods  or  the  robbers,  though 
over  six  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  affair. 

Young  made  up  his  mind  at  once  that  this  Philadelphiii  rub- 
bery was  the  one  in  which  his  "  man  "  was  concerned,  and  he 
at  once  acted  on  this  idea.  He  went  into  the  room  where  his 
"man"  was  confined,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  him 
about  robberies  in  general.  Then  he  brought  the  subject  to 
robberies  in  Philadelphia  in  particular.  At  the  mention  of  the 
word  Philadelphia  "  the  man  "  started  slightly,  —  very  slightly, 
—  but  enough  to  convince  John  Young  that  he  had  touched 
the  right  chord.  So  he  kept  harping  on  Philadelijhia  —  Phila- 
delphia—  Philadelphia  —  till,  finally,  " the  man"  said,  "Look 
here:  you  mean  something  by  this  'Philadelphia,' — spit  it 
out  1 "  and  John  Young  accordingly  "  spatted  out,"  and  told 
him  in  plain  English  that  he  suspected  his  companion  of  "  be- 
ing in  "  this  silk-robbery  in  Philadelphia. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  man,  surveying  the  ample  proportions 
of  the  adipose  Young  with  an  eager  glance,  and  speaking  this 
time  earnestly,  and  from  his  soul,  —  "  Look  here :  I  will  trust 
you.  Promise  me,  on  your  honor,  that  yon  will  do  all  you 
can  to  get  me  a  t ,vo-and-a-half  stretch  insioad  of  a  fiver" 
(a  sentence  for  two  and  a  half  years  instead  of  a  five-years' 
term),  "so  that  I  can  get  out  just  a  little  while  before  my 
wife,  who  is  in  for  a  three-years'  stretch,  so  that  I  can 
have  a  chance  to  turn  round  and  provide  for  her  when  she 
comes  out  of  the  grand  quay  "  (State  prison).  "  Promise  me 
this,  and  I  will  '  open,'  I  will  '  split '  "  (or  tell).  "  I  won't  tell 
you  who  my  pals  were,  —  I  would  not '  squeal '  on  them  :^  you 
were  to  give  me  twenty  years ;  but  I  will  not  bother  you :  I 
will  waive  my  rights  about  warrants  and  States,  and  all  that, 


106  ".1.        A  NOIILE  CRLVIXAL.  *\  "^ 

and  go  with  you  to  Philailelphiu,  ftiul  plead  guilty,  and  tell  you 
where  the  bahmee  of  the  swag  iu  planted  "  (where  the  bahineo 
of  the  Htolen  Hilkrt  are  concealed),  '^ho  that  you  can  .aiHo  the 
plant"  (recover  the  good.s).  "  You  couldn't  do  it  without  me, 
for  the  swag  is  planted  where  nobody  could  get  at  it  unless 
somebody  dies "  (an  expression  at  which  Young  wondered  at 
the  time,  though  ho  comprehended  it  afterward).  "Now,  is  it 
a  bargain  ?  I  want  to  got  out  before  my  wife.  She  was  very 
kind  to  me.  1  love  her.  She  would  not  have  been  a  thief  had 
it  not  been  for  me.  She  nursed  me  when  I  was  sick.  She  has 
been  true  to  me,  and  I  want  to  show  her  when  she  comes  out 
that  I  am  not  ungrateful.  Promise  me  that  you  will  fix  it  so 
that  I  will  got  out  for  this  a  month  or  so  before  my  wife,  and  I 
will  keep  my  word,  and  save  you  a  heap  of  trouble." 

The  man  was  really  in  earnest,  self-confessed  thief  as  he  was: 
his  whole  anxiety  now  in  this  matter  was  one  which  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  noblest  and  best  man  on  earth, — an 
anxiety  to  provide  for  the  future  of  the  woman  who  loved  him, 

—  a  woman  who,  however  bad  to  others,  had  always  been  good 
to  him.  ,  -  r"  •        '■  f      i  .;     .  ■- 

The  three  detectives  had  surprised  this  man  by  swooping 
upon  him  without  charge  or  warrant ;  but  now  this  man,  in  liis 
turn,  surprised  the  three  detectives  by  exhibiting  a  i)hase  of 
the  manliness  which  was  utterly  unexpected,  and  which  caused 
Y'oung  to  shake  him  by  the  hand  heartily,  and  led  Elder  to 
say  to  McCord,  "  It's  a  pity  such  a  fellow  as  that  should  be 
crooked !  " 

The  man's  petition  was  granted.  A  bargain  was  struck 
between  him  and  the  officers.  He  waived  his  rights  to  an 
examination,  was  taken  the  next  day  to  Philadelphia  to  plead 
guilty  to  participation  in  the  robbery  of  the  silk-store,  and 
revealed  where  the  balance  of  the  stolen  goods  was  concealed, 

—  in  an  old  tomb  in  a  cemetery  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city, 


THE  nOGUE'S   WIFE.  ..'         167 

where  Ihey  never  would  have  been  discovered  unless  somebody 
hud  been  brought  to  that  particular  tomb  to  bo  buried  in  it 
(which  explained  what  the  man  meant  when  he  said  "nobody 
could  get  at  it  unless  somebody  dies  ").  The  recovered  silks 
were  restored  to  their  owner,  who  rewarded  the  detectives 
handsomely. 

As  for  '*  the  man,"  in  consideration  of  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  liis  action  in  the  matter,  and  the  bargain 
made  by  him  with  the  detectives,  lie  received  less  than  one-half 
the  ordinary  sentence  for  his  crime.  lie  was  doomed  to  only 
two  and  a  ([uarter  years  in  Cherry-hill  Prison,  and  was  set  free, 
on  account  of  good  behavior,  even  before  the  expiration  of  that 
terra. 

On  coming  out  of  prison,  he  resumed  ^'s  trade,  —  he  was  a 
plasterer  when  he  was  not  a  thief,  —  and  was  earning  good 
wages  when  his  wife  re-appeared  in  the  world. 

He  took  the  woman  to  his  home ;  and,  when  last  heard  from, 
"  the  man  *'  was  still  a  hard-working  laborer,  while  the  wife 
was  a  laundress. 

Hundreds  of  equally  interesting  sketches  of  detective  life 
and  experience  could  be  related  did  space  permit,  but  it  does 
not. 

All  that  I  can  here  add  in  concluding  this  chapter  is,  that, 
in  the  vast  majority  of  cases,  the  police,  in  one  way  or  other, 
prove  too  much  for  the  criminals,  and  that,  sooner  or  later, 
crime  comes  to  punishment. 

In  Centre  Street,  in  the  heart  of  "  down  town,"  rises  a  large, 
heavy  granite  building,  in  the  style  of  an  Egyptian  temple, 
known  throughout  New  York  as  the  Tombs.  Within  the 
walls,  which  face  the  street,  is  a  large  square,  in  which  are 
three  prisons,  for  boys,  men,  and  women  respectively ;  and  in 
the  centre  of  the  prison-yard  stands,  ever  and  anon,  when 
needed,  the  awful  gallows. 


168      **  nUMMERS'  CELL"  AND  "  MURD.mEBS'  BOW." 

Tho  luuiii  cull  of  thu  pririoii  Im  u  Iarg»  room  (holiling,  or  ablo 
tu  hold,  about  two  liundrcd  2)i3I'hoiih;  holding  even  iiioro  hoidu- 
tiinuH  on  a  Saturday  night),  culled  'Uhe  Huuiincru'  Cull."  Tiiu 
Tombs'  police-court  is  always  a  terribly  interesting  and  in- 
structive place,  especially  on  u  Sunday  Morning.  And  cer- 
tainly tho  most  saddening  place  in  tho  whole  metropolis  is  tho 
tier  of  colls  devoted  to  the  temporary  occupancy  of  the  wretches 
condemned  to  bo  hung,  called  "  Murderers'  Row." 

And  either  to  the  prison  or  the  gallows,  the  detectives  and 
tho  police  bring,  sooner  or  later,  the  fools,  knaves,  and  criminals 
of  New  York.     "  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 


CHAPTEU  XIV. 

A  SUNDAY  IN  NEW  YORK.  —  KtCMOIOUB  AND  IRItRLtOIOUS  OOTtlAM.  — TUB 
mo  FUNEItALH  OK  NKW  YOHK.  —  HUNUAY  EVKMNUH  IN  TlIK  UUKAT 
MKTItOI'OLIB.  —  TUE  UIBTOllY  OF  ONK  MKMUUAULU  8AUUATU    UAV. 

New  York,  being  the  city  of  contrasts,  abomidfl,  not  only  in 
police,  but  priests  ;  not  only  in  crimes,  but  churches. 

The  churches  of  New  York  are  among  the  finest  in  the 
country ;  and  the  clergymen  connected  therewith  are,  as  a 
class,  alike  devout  and  intellectual.  A  dull  minister  Ima  as 
little  chance  in  New  York  as  any  other  dull  man. 

Trinity  Church,  New  York,  at  the  htvl  of  Wall  Street,  is 
the  richest  ecclesiastical  corporation  in  America.  It  really  does 
some  good  with  its  money.  Services  are  held  within  its  walls 
constantly ,  and  all  well-behaved  persons  are  admitted  freely, 
and  receive  the  most  polite  attention.  Trinity  is  so  well  es- 
tablished, that  it  can  afford  to  l^i  democratic.  In  Trinity 
churchyard  repose  the  remains  of  Gallatin,  the  Revolutionary 
financier ;  George  Frederick  Cooke,  the  actor ;  the  unfortunate 
and  beautiful  Charlotte  Temple,  and  other  persons  of  note. 
Tlie  right  of  Trinity  corporation  to  its  revenues  1  s  been  dis- 
puted from  time  to  time,  but  so  far  wholly  unsuccessfully. 

Grace  Church  (Episcopal)  stands  next  to  Trinity  in  its  fash- 
ionable importance.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful,  archi- 
tecturally, of  any  church  in  the  city.  It  forms,  With  its  grounds 
and  rectory,  a  prominent  object  of  what  may  be  termed  "  mid- 
dle Broadway,"  directly  adjoining  "  Stewart's  store." 

Old  St.  Patrick's  Roman-Catholic  Cathedral  stands  on  the 

169 


170  THE  "SUNDAY  LAWS." 

east  side,  and  is  hallowed  by  memories.  The  new  cathedral 
rises  on  Fifth  Avenue  by  the  Park,  and  is  a  grand  pile.  The 
new  church  of  the  Jesuits  on  Sixteenth  Street,  and  St.  Ste- 
phen's Church  on  Twenty-eighth  Street,  are  famous  for  the 
high  quality  of  the  music  of  their  choirs.  The  Roman-Catholio 
churches  are  crowded  every  Sunday,  not  only  by  worshippers, 
but  visitors. 

There  are  many  superb  Presbyterian,  and  not  a  few  very 
elaborate  JMethodist  and  Baptist  and  Dutch  Reformed,  churches. 
Protestantism  in  the  metropolis  has  gained  in  elegance,  per- 
haps, what  it  has  lost  in  primitive  simplicity. 

There  is  a  Roman  or  Greek  Church  chapel,  and  a  Cliinese 
joss-house ;  and  a  temple  of  free  thinkers,  or  a  society  devoted 
to  ethical  culture ;  and  there  are  also  a  number  of  fine  Jewish 
synagogues. 

And,  while  there  are  many  temples  for  the  rich,  there  are 
likewise  many  churches  for  the  poor.  While  Rev.  Dr.  Hall 
preaches  every  Sunday  to  representatives  of  over  four  hun- 
dred millions  of  dollars,  there  are  not  a  few  clergymen  whose 
humble  chapel-worshippers  could  not  raise  perhaps  a  thousand 
dollars  among  them,  all  told.  As  in  other  respects,  so  New 
York  presents  great  and  startling  contrasts  in  the  difference 
between  the  working  of  its  Sunday  laws  and  their  enforcement. 

The  "  Sunday  laws,"  so  called,  of  New  York,  are  very  rigid, 
yet  their  administration  is  very  lax;  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  these  laws  are  only  enforced  on  and  against  the  poor  and 
obscure.  The  pedler  must  "observe  the  sabbath;"  but  the 
rich  hotel-keeper  or  rum-seller,  or  the  fashionable  and  luxuri- 
ous, can  do  as  they  think  best,  and  no  one  dreams  of  interfering. 

In  point  of  fact,  and  as  a  mere  matter  of  fact,  all  religions, 
no  religion,  and  irreligion,  stand  equally  in  the  ej-es  of  New- 
York  law,  and  are  equally  unmolested  by  New-York  custom. 
Excursions  and  devotional  exercises  are  patronized.    Sunday 


A  CHARACTERISTIC  SUNDAY.  171 

schools  and  sample-rooms  are  open.  Church-goers  and  concert- 
goers  consult  their  inclinations  freely  every  and  any  Sunday. 
One  characteristic  feature  of  a  New- York  Sunday  is  the  num- 
ber of  its  funerals,  especially  the  funeral-pageants  of  the  poorer 
classes.  Sunday,  being  the  only  "  spare  day  "  of  the  poor  man,  is 
availed  of  by  him  and  his  family  to  combine  the  paying  of  his 
last  respects  to  a  departed  friend  with  the  enjoying  of  "  a  car- 
riage-ride," even  though  it  be  only  to  and  from  a  grave-yard. 

Another  characteristic  feature  of  a  New- York  Sunday,  of  late 
years  especially,  is  the  number  and  popularity  of  its  concerts, 
alike  on  the  Bowery  and  on  Broadway. 

Probably  the  most  characteristic  Sunday,  the  most  thoroughly 
dramatic,  cosmopolitan,  contrasted,  and  thoroughly  New- York 
Sunday  ever  known  to  New  York,  was  the  Sunday  of  IMarch 
11,  1883,  —  the  Sunday  when  the  great  Wiggins  storm  did 
not  come  off,  but  when  the  funerals  of  "  Jimmy "  Elliott  the 
thief,  and  McGloin  the  murderer,  did.  -      ! 

Of  course,  this  Sunday  was  years  later  than  was  the  date  of 
my  fiist  '^.ppearance  in  New  York;  but  I  allude  to  it  here, 
as  glvinjj  my  readers  the  most  forcible  idea,  not  only  of  the 
possibilities,  but  of  the  actualities,  of  a  New- York  Sunday. 

On  this  particular  Sunday  over  five  hundred  places  of  wor- 
ship were  open  ;  and  from  two  to  four  congregations  assembled 
during  the  day  and  evening  at  each  place  of  worship,  embra- 
cing, say,  over  a  hundred  thousand  men  and  women.  An  even 
larger  number  of  Sunday-schools,  mission-schools,  etc.,  were 
attended  by  an  even  larger  number  of  children.  Thousands 
of  sermons  were  earnestly  preached,  and  respectfully  listened 
to.  M&ny  thousands  of  prayers  were  publicly,  as  well  as 
privately,  offered  up  to  Him  who  heareth  prayer. 

Though,  alas !  the  public  libraries  and  reJiding-rooms  and  art- 
galleries  were  closed,  some  six  thousand  saloons  were  open,  by 
the  side-doors  at  least. 


172  •'     ELLIOTT' H  FUNERAL. 

And  on  the  very  day  that  a  hundred  thousand  adults  attended 
divine  worship,  and  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  children 
went  to  Sunday-school,  in  that  very  city  a  tremendous  stir 
took  place  in  the  streets ;  and  public  honors  were  paid  to  a 
murdered  buiglar  and  an  executed  murderer.  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  deny  or  cavil  at  the  right,  the  privilege,  of  the  afflicted 
ones  to  whom  the  dead  were  dear,  to  pay  the  last  sad  tribute 
of  affection  to  all  that  is  left  of  them,  —  their  coffins.  But, 
certainly,  there  was  nothing  in  either  the  manner  of  the  lives 
or  the  manner  of  the  deaths  of  James  Elliott,  the  professional 
pugilist  and  burglar,  and  McGloin,  "  the  tough  "  and  the  assas- 
sin, to  warrant  or  to  sanction  such  a  wonderful  "  ovation  "  as 
their  funerals  amounted  to. 

The  terrible  taking  off  of  Elliott  in  the  midst  of  his  sins, 
by  a  fellow  and  professional  sinner,  had  an  awful  lesson  some- 
where in  it.  And  so  had  the  execution  of  McGloin.  But 
both  lessons  were  completely  neutralized  by  this  public  demon- 
stration in  their  honor. 

Read  how  Elliott  was  buried. 

The  casket  was  a  gorgeous  affair.  The  hearse  was  a  marvel 
of  magnificence.  The  plumes  were  ample  and  orthodox.  Be- 
sides, there  were  no  less  than  four  horses,  all  dapple-gray,  to 
draw  the  mortuary  vehicle  through  the  streets.  Such  a  display 
the  Sixth  Ward  had  not  looked  upon  since  the  exodus  of  tlie 
good  old  days  of  the  Bowery  boys  and  "  Dead  Rabbits."  That 
every  thing  should  be  in  keeping,  fitty  gentlemen  of  admitted 
standing  in  the  sporting  world,  with  ample  breadth  of  chest, 
clean  collars,  and  high  silk  hats,  were  held  in  waiting  to  take 
up  their  position  behind  thj  hearse.  Sixty  carriages  containing 
relatives,  friends,  and  gentlemen  about  town,  who  believed  they 
would  be  insufficiently  "  game ''  were  they  to  absent  themselves, 
were  to  follow  the  pedestrians.  Altogether  it  was  a  very  im- 
posing and  a  very  formidable  gathering.    But,  satisfactory  as 


A  SCENE  ON  nARTiT  HOWARD   SQUARE.  173 

the  cortege  appeared  to  the  critical  eye  of  the  onlookers,  it  did 
not  come  up  to  the  intentions  of  Mr.  Jack  Stiles  and  his  col- 
leagues. Tliey  had  determined  that  no  well-regulated  funeral 
of  this  description  could  be  complete  without  the  presence  of 
Mr.  J.  L.  Sullivan.  They  also  deemed  it  uiadvisable  to  proceed 
with  the  final  arrangements  till  other  "  knockers  out "  of  repute 
had  been  cummunicated  with,  and  their  attendance  had  been 
politely  requested.  A  flood  of  invitations  was  accordingly 
issued,  but  not  all  of  them  met  with  response. 

The  redoubtable  Sullivan  flatly  refused  to  make  a  show  of 
himself  behind  the  bier  of  his  quondam  challenger,  and  some 
other  representatives  of  the  first  sporting  society  of  other  cities 
had  the  ill-taste  to  utterly  ignore  the  communications.  All 
were  not  so  unmindful  of  these  little  mortuary  courtesies. 
Parson  Davis  of  Chicago,  who  was  responsible  for  Elliott's 
appearance  there,  sent  word  that  he  was  busy.  Others  pleaded 
urgent  engagements.  Many  responded  in  person.  What  remote 
cities  failed  in.  New  York,  Brooklyn,  and  Jersey  City  amply 
supplied.  Every  youth  of  "spirit,"  who  had  a  consuming 
ambition  to  be  regarded  as  a  "slugger,''  paid  his  respects  in 
person.  Any  "chicken,"  "mouse,"  or  "clipper,"  who  had 
donned  the  mittens,  and  boxed  in  the  cheap  variety  shows  of 
any  of  the  three  cities,  was  bound  to  be  there.  Rat-fighters, 
dog-fighters,  cock-figliters,  horse-jockeys,  turf-loungers,  and  pool- 
room watchers,  —  every  one  who  had  a  drop  of  sporting  blood 
in  his  veins,  or  thought  he  had,  made  his  way  to  Harry  Howard 
Square.  Another  feature  of  the  gathenng  was  the  representa- 
tion of  the  criminal  classes  that  appeared.  Flyers  of  the  bit 
and  jimmy,  cuiuiing  sneak-thieves,  wily  pickpockets,  —  men 
who  usually  skulk  along  in  the  crowd,  and  slip  by  in  the  dark 
unnoticed,  and  wishing  to  remain  so, — stood  yesterday  in  the 
full  glaie  of  the  sunlight  in  the  immense  concourse  before  the 
crowded  house.     Of  course,  the  police  were  there.     So  were 


174  .'  now  "A  TOUGU"  was  in.jsrhed.    . 

their  clubs,  as  some  of  the  onlookers  later  experienced.  But 
they  seemed  to  have  their  attention  too  much  occupied  with 
the  movement  of  the  multitude  to  spare  it  for  any  cuauul 
wrongdoer  who  chanced  to  appear.      :<:<tu..:  -^i^i,   .•.-»- 

Canal,  between  Centre  Street  and  the  Bowery,  was  almost 
blockaded  with  the  dense  crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children. 
The  pressing  throngs  came  crowding  in  from  all  sections  of  the 
city.  Chatham  Square  was  made  nearly  impassable  by  the 
presence  of  the  vast  multitude,  which  continued  to  grow  larger 
and  more  compact.  Along  the  Bowery,  as  far  up  as  Seventh 
Street,  it  soon  became  difficult  for  pedestrians  to  move.  Such 
a  spectacle  has  not  been  seen  here  in  a  long  time.  All  seemed 
intent  on  one  point,  at  least ;  and  this  evidently  was  what  the 
most  came  for, — to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  funeral  cortege. 
Beyond  this  few  had  any  expectations;  and,  if  they  might  at 
an  earlier  hour  have  anticipated  an  opportunity  to  gaze  upon 
the  face  of  the  dead  pugilist,  they  soon  must  have  abandoned 
any*  such  hope.  At  all  events,  whatever  may  have  been  the 
desire  of  the  most  of  them  in  this  regard,  they  quickly  per- 
ceived the  utter  impossibility  of  doing  more  than  remain  in 
the  street,  and  content  themselves  with  seeing  what  passed 
before  them.  In  front  of  Mr.  McDavitt's  house  Capt.  Petty 
and  a  large  force  of  policemen  devoted  their  attention  —  and 
it  was  with  no  little  difficulty  they  succeeded  in  doing  so  — 
to  keeping  the  sidewalk  clear  of  everybody  except  the  pall- 
bearers. 

Read  how  murderer  McGloin  was  interred  amid  scenes  of 
ribaldry  and  rowdyism.  Read  how  curses  and  prayers  were 
commingled  in  a  church.        ■"-  ■  >■ - 

A  noisy  multitude,  numbering  at  least  five  thousand  per- 
sons, filled  West  Twenty-ninth  Street,  and  surged  in  front  of 
the  tenement  where  the  body  of  Michael  McGloin  the  murderer 
lay.    The  housetops,  windows,  and  stoops  for  a  block  each  way 


A  DISGRACEFUL  SCENE.  175 

were  black  with  spectators ;  and  Eighth  Avenue  in  the  near 
neighborhood  was  impassable.  On  every  side  were  the  typical 
corner  loafers  ;  and  scores  of  faces  seemed  to  reflect  the  defiant 
words  0^  the  strangled  assassin,  "I'm  a  tough."  Swaggering 
young  men  in  tight  trousers  cursed  and  struggled  with  swagger- 
ing young  women  to  get  an  advantageous  position,  and  even 
mothers  with  children  in  their  arms  endured  the  crushing  and 
pushing  rather  than  lose  a  glimpse  of  the  expected  scene.  A 
platoon  of  policemen,  headed  by  a  roundsman,  struggled  and 
fought  with  the  mob  to  keep  a  clear  space  in  front  of  the  door, 
on  which  the  streamer  of  white  and  black  crape  was  hanging. 
At  first  the  policemen  were  persuasive  in  their  manner ;  but  at 
last  they  were  forced  to  draw  their  clubs,  and  charge.  Men, 
women,  and  children  were  prodded  and  rapped.  Again  and 
again  they  were  charged,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  curses 
and  ribaldry.  A  more  disgraceful  scene  can  hardly  be  ima- 
gined. Roars  of  laughter  went  up  from  those  who  were  far 
enough  away  from  the  policemen's  clubs  to  safely  indulge  their 
feelings.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  terrible  scene  stood  the  hearse, 
with  its  nodding  plumes.  ^^  ;  >  i.  ;  :  :u,     •;     .>  •     i       :   , 

When  the  procession  arrived  at  Calvary  Cemetery,  it  was 
re-enforced  by  a  large  detachment  of  hard-looking  citizens  of 
the  rowdy  type.  The  hearse  drove  through  the  waiting  crowd 
to  the  little  wooden  chapel ;  and  the  casket  was  carried  up  the 
wide  aisle,  and  laid  in  front  of  the  altar  under  the  polished  tre- 
foil arch.  The  father  of  the  dead  murderer,  accompanied  by 
his  wife  and  daughter,  pushed  their  way  into  a  pew ;  and  a 
host  of  "  toughs  "  went  upon  their  knees  as  Father  Brophy, 
the  chaplain ,  and  an  altar-boy,  advanced  to  the  flower-covered 
bier,  and  began  the  service.     •>'  ■-  •*  •»<    ■  '   ■>  >     • 

Just  as  the  priest  had  raised  the  aspergea  to  sprinkle  the 
casket  with  holy  water,  there  was  a  loud  sound  of  strife  at  the 
door.    Then  the  chapel-walls  echoed  with  curses,  and  a  crowd 


176  THE  LAST  OF  "  A   TOUOH." 

of  rowdies  was  seen  struggling  with  two  men  who  were  guard- 
ing the  door. 

"  Silence,"  cried  the  priest,  in  a  warning  voice.  i, 

But  the  struggle  went  on,  and  the  men  at  the  door  were 
hurled  from  side  to  side  in  the  fight.  In  the  clamor  which 
came  from  the  desperadoes,  there  seemed  to  be  a  kinship  to 
the  dead  man's  boast, — 

"  I'm  a  tough." 

The  impressive  service  was  completely  stopped ;  and  many 
of  the  people  in  the  chapel,  becoming  alarmed,  ran  toward  the 
side-door,  as  if  in  fear  of  the  roughs  who  were  trying  to  force 
their  way  in. 

"  Let  no  one  leave  his  seat,"  cried  the  priest.  "  Do  not  fear, 
and  remain  where  you  are,  I  command  you." 

At  that  instant  the  band  of  ruffians  at  the  main  entrance 
burst  into  the  chapel,  fell  on  their  knees,  and  the  service  was 
resumed.  But,  all  through  it,  there  were  sounds  of  fighting 
outside  at  the  entrance  ;  and  the  chaplain's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  door,  while  his  lips  repeated  the  supplication  for  grace  to 
the  murderer's  soul.  Finally  the  priest  and  his  assistant  retired 
behind  the  altar :  the  remains  were  raised  upon  the  shoulders 
of  several  young  men,  and  carried  to  the  hearse,  which  was 
driven  to  Section  No.  7,  where  a  large  crowd  had  already 
formed  around  an  open  grave,  hidden  among  tall  tombstones. 
It  was  a  very  small  grave ;  and,  as  the  casket  Avas  lowered  to 
the  bottom,  it  rattled  against  the  sides  of  coffins  which  pro- 
truded from  the  adjoining  lots.  McGloin's  father,  mother, 
and  sister  stood  on  a  mound  of  freshly  dug  earth,  and.  calmly 
watched* the  casket  disappear  from  sight.  Then  the  trench 
was  quickly  filled  up,  the  sod  was  packed  down  tightly,  and 
the  flowers  were  arranged  artistically  over  the  grave.  Then 
the  crowd  left,  and  the  sorrowing  relatives  re-entered  their 
carriages.    Then  there  was  a  loud  shout,  a  scramble  over  the 


ONE  NEW-YORK  SUNDAY.  177 

graves,  as  Elliott's  hearse  came  in  sight ;  and  the  multitude 
had  forgotten,  in  the  presence  of  the  new  attraction,  the  man 
whose  ambition  was  realized,  when  he  said,  — 

"  I've  knocked  my  man  out,  and  now  I'm  a  tough." 

Such  was  the  sabbath  day :  and,  when  Sunday  night  came, 
there  was  a  grand  concert  given  at  one  theatre  on  Broadway, 
and  another  opposition  and  fashionable  concert  given  across  the 
street  at  a  rival  theatre  ;  both  concerts  being  fully  attended, 
and  neither  concert  even  so  much  as  pretending  to  be  "  sacred." 

Then  the  fashionable  beer-halls  on  Twenty-third  and  Four- 
teenth Streets  held  concerts  likewise,  and  were  crowded,  as 
were  the  beer-gardens  along  the  Bowery.  And  the  games  of 
poker  at  the  Fifth-avenue  clubs,  and  the  games  of  faro  at  the 
club-houses,  or  gaming-dens,  near  Broadway,  progressed  pleas- 
antly and  uninterruptedly.  And  the  saloons  generally  were  ia 
full  blast,  and  two  terrible  murders  were  committed. 

All  within  the  compass  of  one  New- York  Sunday. 


<• 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  WEALTH  OF  THE  GBEAT  METROPOM9. — TIIADE,  SPECULATION,  AVALI, 
STREET,  AND  THE  PROFESSIONS.  —  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  TWO  UROTIIKIIS 
WHO  TRIED  TO  SUCCEED  IN  NEW  YORK  BY  BEING  UONK8T.  — "  FASll- 
lONABLE  SOCIETY,"  AND  WHAT  IT  AMOUNTS  TO. — TUE  BRIGHT  SIDE  OF 
NEW  YORK.  — NEW  YORK,  AFTER  ALL,  TUE  BEST  AS  WELL  AS  GREATEST 
CITY. 

We  have  already  considered,  and  considerably  in  detail,  the 
poor  of  New  York,  the  criminals  of  New  York,  and  the  police 
of  New  York.  But  the  predominating  element  in  New  York 
ia  not  steeped,  either  in  poverty  or  crime :  it  has  little  to  do 
with  prisons  or  police.  It  is  chiefly  concerned  in  buying,  sell- 
ing, investing,  speculating,  and  spenling.  It  is  engaged  in 
trade :  it  dabbles  in  stocks  or  securities  or  real  estate.  It 
practises  law  or  medicine,  or  is  concerned  in  and  with  politics. 

The  wealth  of  New  York  is  not  fully  appreciated,  even  by 
New-Yorkers.  Some  idea  of  this  wealth  will  be  formed  when 
I  state  that  it  is  estimated  that  there  are  over  one  hundred  men 
in  tills  city  worth  over  twenty  millions  of  dollars  each,  and 
•over  a  thousand  men  worth  over  a  million  of  dollars  each.  A 
paper  of  New  York  published,  some  time  since,  a  list  of  men 
Avho  pay  taxes  on  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  over ;  and 
rthe  mere  list  of  names  occupied  so  many  columns  in  one  issue, 
with  so  many  columns  of  names  yet  to  come,  that  it  was  found 
•to  be  injudicious  to  complete  the  publication. 

One  manifest  tendency  of  trade  is  to  "  section  "-alize  itself, 

to  localize  itself ,  each  separate  trade  occupying  one  section,  or 

locality.     Thus,  the  leather-dealers  occupy  "the  swamp,"  the 
178 


"  SPECULATION."  179 

steamship-offices  cluster  round  Howling  Green,  the  real-estate 
offices  are  found  in  and  around  Pino  Street,  the  jewellers  con- 
gregate in  Maiden  Lane,  the  newspaper-offices  are  thick  around 
the  Park,  and  the  retail  dry-goods  stores  have  their  up-town 
centres. 

Another  manifest  tendency  of  trade  is  to  work  its  way 
toward  the  Central  Park.  "  Business "  has  invaded  succes- 
sively and  successfully  Clinton  Place,  Fourteenth  Street,  and 
Twenty-third  Street,  and  is  now  encroaching  upon  Madison  and 
Fifth  Avenues,  —  thoroughfares  hitherto  sacred  to  "  fashion." 

And  "speculation,"  which  was  once  confined  to  Wall  Street, 
is  now,  by  the  telegraph  and  the  telephone,  diffused,  as  it  were, 
all  over  the  city.  Brokers'  offices  are  located  now  in  up-town 
hotels ;  and  the  leading  speculator  of  New  York,  Jay  Gould, 
has  his  private  wires  connected  with  his  private  office  in  his 
private  house,  near  the  Windsor  Hotel. 

Speculation  is  at  once  the  blessing  and  the  bane  of  New 
York,  —  the  blessing  of  tlie  lucky  few,  the  bane  of  the  unlucky 
many.  New  York  is  the  gambling  (stock  gambling)  centre  of 
the  world;  surpassing  in  the  magnitude  of  its  operations,  com- 
pared to  its  capital,  either  London  or  Paris. 

Fortunes  are  made  sooner  and  lost  more  easily  in  New  York 
than  in  any  other  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  A  rise  in 
a  stock  has  made  almost  penniless  men  millionnaires  ia  a 
week,  and  a  fall  in  securities  has  rendered  millionnaires  bank- 
rupt in  a  day. 

As  Edward  Winslow  Martin  remarks  in  his  celebrated  book, 
which  all  should  read,  "  The  Secrets  of  the  Great  City :  "  — 

Watch  the  carriages  as  they  whirl  through  Fifth  Avenue,  going 
and  returning  from  the  Park.  They  are  us  elegant  and  8uini)tuou3 
as  wealth  can  make  them.  The  owners,  lying  back  amongst  the  soft 
t'usliions,  are  clad  in  the  height  of  fashion.  By  their  dresses  they 
might  be  princes  and  princesses.     This  much  is  due  to  art.     Now 


180  "  CUltn STONE  BROKEHH." 

mark  tlie  coar8(>,  rougli  feiUurt's,  the  Ill-bred  gtnrc,  the  liniiglity  nule- 
lU'HB,  wliiclj  they  endeavor  to  palm  off  for  dignity.  Do  you  seo  any 
difference  between  tiiem  and  tlie  footman  in  livery  on  the  carriage- 
box?  Both  mauter  and  man  l>elong  to  the  same  class,  only  one  is 
wenltliy,  an<1  the  other  is  not.  lint  that  footman  may  take  tho  place 
of  the  master  in  a  couitie  of  years,  or  in  less  time.  Snch  clmngcH 
may  seem  remiMkable,  but  they  are  very  common  in  New  York. 

Sec  that  gentleman  driving  tliat  splendid  pair  of  sorrels.  He  is 
a  fine  specimen  of  mere  animal  la'anty.  IIow  well  he  drives !  The 
ease  and  carelessness  with  which  he  manages  his  splendid  steeds 
excite  the  admiration  of  every  one  on  the  road.  He  is  used  to  it. 
Five  years  ago  he  was  the  drivci  of  a  public  hack.  He  amassed  a 
small  sum  of  money,  and  Injing  naturally  a  sharp,  shrewd  man,  went 
into  Wall  Street,  and  joined  tlie  "  Curbstone  Brokers."  His  trans- 
actions were  not  always  oi)en  to  a  rigid  scrutiny,  but  they  were 
pr<)lita))lc  to  him.  He  invested  in  oil-stocks,  and,  with  his  usual  g(xj(l 
luck,  made  a  fortune.  Now  he  operates  through  his  broker.  His 
transactions  are  heavy,  his  speculations  l)old  and  daring ;  but  he  is 
usually  successful.  He  lives  in  great  splendor  in  one  of  the  finest 
mansions  in  the  city,  and  his  carriages  and  horses  are  superb.  His 
wife  and  daughters  are  completely  carried  away  by  their  good  for- 
tune, and  look  with  disdain  ui)on  all  who  are  not  their  ecpiais  or 
superiors  in  werlth.  They  are  vulgar  and  ill  bred  ;  but  they  are 
wealthy,  and  society  worships  them.  There  will  come  a  change  some 
day.  The  husband  and  father  will  venture  once  too  often  in  his 
speculations,  and  his  magnificent  fortune  will  go  with  a  crash ;  and 
the  family  will  return  to  their  former  state,  or  perhaps  sink  lower : 
for  there  are  very  few  men  who  have  the  moral  courage  to  try  to 
rise  again  after  such  a  fall,  and  this  man  js  not  one  of  them. 

In  watching  the  crowd  on  Broadway,  one  will  frequently  see,  in 
Kiome  shabbily  dressed  individual,  who,  with  his  hat  drawn  down  close 
over  his  eyes,  is  evidently  shrinking  from  the  possibility  of  being  rec- 
ognized, the  man  who  but  a  few  weeks  ago  was  one  of  the  wealthiest 
in  the  city.  Then  he  was  surrounded  with  splendor.  Now  he  hardly 
knows  where  to  get  bread  for  his  family.     Then  he  lived  in  an  elegant 


now  TO  BE  men  in  new  york.  181 

mansion.  Now  one  or  two  rooms  on  tlio  upper  floor  of  some  tone- 
meut-liouHu  eonatitutc  U\»  liubitution.  He  sliniikH  from  nievtlu^  Ills 
old  friends,  well  l^nowiiig  tliat  not  one  of  thum  will  recognize  him, 
except  to  InBiilt  him  with  a  seurnful  Htnrc.  Families  are  coimtantly 
disappearing  from  the  social  circles  in  which  they  have  shone  for  a 
greater  or  less  time.  They  vaniHJi  aliiioHt  in  an  iii8tant,  and  nro 
never  seen  again.  You  may  meet  tlicm  at  some  brilliant  hall  in  the 
evening.  I'ass  their  residence  the  next  day,  and  you  will  Hce  a  hill 
announcing  the  early  sale  of  the  nuuiHion  and  furniture.  The  worldly 
effects  of  the  family  are  all  in  the  hands  of  the  creditors  of  the 
"  head  ;  "  and  the  family  themselves  are  either  in  a  more  modest  homo 
in  the  country,  or  in  a  tenement-house.  You  can  scarcely  walk 
twenty  blocks  on  Fifth  Avenue  without  seeing  one  of  these  bills,  tell- 
ing its  mournful  story  of  fallen  greatness. 

The  best  and  safest  way  to  Ikj  rich  in  New  York,  as  elsewhere, 
is  for  a  man  to  conflne  himself  to  his  legitimate  business.  Few  men 
acquire  wealth  suddenly.  Ninety-nine  fail  where  one  succeeds.  The 
bane  of  New- York  commercial  life,  however,  is,  that  peoi)le  have  not 
the  patience  to  wait  for  fortune.  Every  one  wants  to  be  rich  in  a 
hurry ;  and  as  no  regular  business  will  accomplish  this,  here  or  else- 
where, speculation  is  resorted  to.  The  sharpers  and  tricksters  who 
infest  Wall  Street  know  this  weakness  of  New- York  nu'rcluuits. 
They  take  the  pains  to  inform  themselves  as  to  the  character,  means, 
and  credulity  of  merchants,  and  then  use  every  art  to  draw  them  into 
speculations,  in  which  the  tempter  is  enriched,  and  the  tempted 
ruined.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  a  merchant  is  utterly  ignorant  of 
the  nature  of  the  speculation  he  engages  in.  He  is  not  capable  of 
forming  a  reasonable  opinion  as  to  its  propriety,  or  chance  of  success, 
because  the  whole  transaction  is  so  rapid  that  he  has  no  chance  to 
study  it.  He  leaves  a  business  in  which  he  has  acquired  valuable 
knowledge  and  experience,  and  trusts  himself  to  the  mercy  of  a  man 
he  knows  little  or  nothing  of,  and  undertakes  an  operation  that  he 
does  not  know  how  to  manage.  Dabbling  in  speculations  unfits  men 
for  their  regular  pursuits.  They  come  to  like  the  exciteiaent  of  such 
ventures,  and  rush  on  madly  in  their  mistaken  course,  hoping  to 


18S  PltOFK.^SIOyAL  LITE  IN  NEW  YORK. 

niiike  up  thoir  losaos  by  onu  lucky  oixiculatiuu ;  and  at  length  utter 
ruin  rouHCH  tlivni  from  tlicir  droutuH. 

AltlioiiKh  New  York  ia  the  chief  buHiiicHH  centre  of  the  country, 
fortuiicH  are  niiule  here  alowly  und  Hteudily.  (ireut  wealth  is  the 
uccuinuhition  of  years.  8u(;h  wealth  briu^H  with  it  honor  and  pnm- 
perity.  Oni;  who  tittainn  it  lioneHtly  Iiuh  fuirly  won  the  |)roud  title 
of  "  mcrcliiint,"  but  few  arc  wil!in<^  to  purHUc  the  lon}^  life  of  toil 
necchHiuy  to  attain  it.  They  nuike  lU'ty  thouHuiid  dolluiH  U't^itiiniitely, 
and  then  the  insane  dcHire  Heizes  them  to  double  thia  amount  in  u 
day.     Nine  lose  every  thinj?  where  one  makes  his  fortune. 

The  reason  is  plain.  The  8|M;culatiou  in  stocks  is  controlled  by 
men  without  princi|>U>,  whose  only  object  is  to  enrich  themselves  ut 
the  expense  of  their  victims. 

Professional  life  in  Now  York,  like  mcniantile  and  specula- 
tive, is  heated  full  of  bitter  rivalry  and  intense  competition. 
The  liigher  class  of  New- York  lawyers  charges  enormous  fees; 
while  the  lower  class  embraces  the  sharks,  —  the  lawyers  who 
take  cases  on  "spec,"  —  and  "the  Tombs  shysters,"  or  jail-bird 
lawyers  ;  and  then  there  is  a  fouler  class  yet, —  the  divorce-law- 
yers. The  physicians  of  the  metropolis  bear,  as  a  body,  a  de- 
servedly high  reputation  j  while  the  journalists  and  journals  of 
New  York  are  conceded  to  be  at  the  head  of  journalism.  New 
York  has  also  produced  its  poets,  its  painters,  its  author  and 
artists,  and  is  disputing  with  Boston  itself  the  claim  to  be  the 
literary  centre. 

With  lawyers  like  Brady,  O'Connor,  Field,  and  Evarts;  with 
physicians  like  Francis,  Hosaok,  Mott,  Sayres,  Jacobi,  Sims,  and 
Hammond  ;  with  journalists  like  Bennett,  Greeley,  Raymond, 
Dana,  Whitelaw  Ried,  et  al. ;  with  poets  like  Bryant ;  and  with 
its  long  array  of  men  distinguished  in  science,  art,  and  litera- 
ture,—  the  Union  in  general,  and  New-Yorkers  in  particular, 
may  well  be  proud  of  New  York.  With  regard  to  the  percen- 
tage of  honesty  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  ordinary  commercial 


WALL-f^TnEET  nitOKEIiS.  183 

and  professional  transavitions  of  New- York  life,  as  compared  to 
tlie  p»«rcentago  of  dishonesty,  ohsorvors  ditter  according  to  their 
stand-point :  some  hold  that  honesty  is  tho  raro  oxccption, 
wiiilc  (liHlioncHty  is  tho  almost  nnivursul  rule. 

Sucli  is  the  view  taken  by  Mr.  Isaac  G.  Heed,  jun.,  in  his 
brochure  entitled,  "  From  Iloavon  to  New  York "  (pnblislied 
by  the  Murray-Hill  Publisliing  Company).  In  this  remark- 
able, and  in  nuiny  points  remarkably  pointed,  because  truthful, 
satire,  tho  adventures  and  misadventures  of  the  brothers  Good- 
heart,  who  came  to  New  York,  and  tried  to  succeed  honestly,  are 
recorded  as  follows :  — 

Ilavin;'  a  little  capital  and  a  somewhat  speculative  turn  of  mind, 
UobiTt  (JoocUicart  naturally  sought  Wall  and  Broad  Streets,  and 
became  "a  brokiT."  lie  concoivod  a  great  respect  for  brokers  na  a 
class,  —  on  theory.  "Brokers,"  "bankers,"  "financiers,"  Wall- 
street  operators,  thought  lie,  must  be  high-toned  and  honest  men, 
prir  excellence;  for  they  not  only  are  amongst  the  wealthiest,  but 
our  most  Influontial,  citiz-jns ;  they  occupy  a  social,  as  well  as  a 
ppouniary,  position ;  they  are  highly  respected,  therefore  they  are 
lii^lhly  respectable.  (Poor  fellow  !  he  was  very  young.)  IVIany  of 
tiicm  are  cliuroh-members  in  good  standing.  Some  support  clergymen, 
others  support  churches  ;  some  have  endowed  theological  seniunu  ies  ; 
tliey  are  professedly  Clirlstlans,  therefore  they  must  be  practically 
honest  men.  Therefore  I  will  join  their  number,  and  Ikj  an  honest 
man  and  a  broker.  (Poor  fellow  !  he  was  very,  very  young.)  In  a 
little  while  he  had  mastered  the  "  slang  of  the  street."  He  fathomed 
the  mysteries  of  puts  and  calls,  and  .margins  and  dividends,  coupons, 
bullion,  specie,  legal  tenders,  certificates,  call-loans,  funded  debt,  pre- 
ferred and  common  stock,  etc. ;  and,  at  last,  he  entered  into  opera- 
tions on  his  own  account.  His  first  transaction  was  with  one  of  the 
moit  successful  and  most  celebrated  of  the  money-kings,  —  a  little, 
tiark-browed  man,  who  was  worth  millions,  and  was  president  of  a 
railroad.  The  little  man  swallowed  np  In  a  day  every  dollar  which 
our  hero,  or  fool,  had  invested  in  the  enterprise,  and  then  refused 


184  THE  MILLIONNAIRE  "  OPEBATORS." 

even  to  see  the  little  minnow,  who  never  even  so  much  as  set  eyes 
upon  the  miglity  whale  again. 

His  next  operation  was  with  another  railroad-king,  —  a  fine-looking, 
magnificently  preserved,  stately  old  man,  with  a  clerical  look,  who 
controlled  untold  millions.  Of  course,  our  hero  did  not  deal  with  this 
superb  Chesus  directly,  but  only  dabbled  in  his  "stocks"  at  the 
advice  of  his  "agents."  He  lost  every  dollar  he  invested,  and  never 
so  much  as  saw  the  great  Mogul,  into  whose  pockets  his  money  had 
all  gone,  save  once,  when  walking  one  afternoon,  footsore  and  tired, 
up  town,  he  met  the  Croesus  returning  to  his  palace  behind  some  of 
the  finest  and  fastest  horse-flesh  in  the  world.  His  third  venture  was 
in  a  "pool "  engineered  by  an  old  and  pious  millionnaire,  whose  good 
morals  were  supposed  to  make  ample  amends  for  his  bad  Englisii. 
Goodheart  never  saw  the  millionnaire,  nor  his  own  money  either. 
The  latter  was  at  once  "gobbled"  up  by  the  former,  who  never 
could  be  found,  or  gotten  at  in  any  way,  not  even  by  a  lawyer,  so 
cunningly  had  the  millionnaire  covered  his  tracks.  Then  Goodheart 
invested  a  portion  of  his  remaining  capital  in  a  stupendous  railroad 
scheme,  which  was  to  benefit  the  world,  and  which  was  controlled 
by  an  eminently  Christian  philanthropist  who  loved  clergymen.  This 
"  lover  of  clergymen"  went  to  the  wall,  and  all  the  poor  fellow's 
investment  went  with  him. 

He  never  realized  enough  from  the  wreck,  even  to  pay  his  travelling 
expenses  to  a  neighboring  city,  where  he  might  have  had  a  chance  to 
catch  a  passing  glimpse  of  the  eminently  "  Christian  philantliropist  " 
who  loved  clergymen.  Still  hoping  for  the  best,  still  believing  in  the 
existence  of  mercantile  honesty,  Robert  Goo<lheart  invested  a  little 
of  what  he  had  left  in  the  stock,  of  a  steamship  company  controlled 
by  men  of  social  pretensions,  whose  names  were  always  in  the  news- 
papers. He  lost  every  dollar ;  but,  in  this  case,  he  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  being  allowed  to  "  see  "  one  of  tho  "  principals,"  who  kindly 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  invited  him  to  "  take  a  drink." 

Meanwhile  our  poor  Robert  mixed  with  the  average  herd  of  brokers, 
AVall-street  operators,  etc.,  and  found  them,  with  but  few  exceptions, 
to  be  yelling,  lying,  nervous,  idle,  immoral,  reckless,  unscrupulous, 


FROM  "  SPECULATION"    TO  "  TRADE."  185 

selfish,  improvident  gamblers,  utterly  shattered,  alike  in  })}ujsique  and 
fortune.  He  found  them  to  be  men  who  were  as  bitter  in  their  enmi- 
ties as  they  were  brittle  in  their  friendships.  Their  word  was  a 
mockery,  and  their  "honor"  was  a  sham.  They  were  thieves 
whom  the  law  could  not  touch.  They  robbed  their  victims,  and  often 
robbed  each  other.  They  were  stock  and  gold  gamblers,  who  prac- 
tised openly  down  town  tricks  which  would  have  been  scorned  by 
tlie  faro  and  kcno  gamblers  up  town.  They  were  rogues  wlio  were 
also  hypocrites.  They  were  humbugs  as  well  as  criminals.  They 
were  a  curse  to  the  city  and  to  the  country.  They  were  foul-mouthed 
libertines  and  drunkards,  double-faced  and  double-tongued,  without 
faith  in  God,  man,  or  woman,  and  without  fear  of  the  Devil,  —  meu 
who  met  in  dark  corners  to  conspire  against  humanity,  their  country, 
and  each  other ;  and  yet,  withal,  they  were  men  who  were  husbands, 
fathers,  brothers,  and  lovers  of  our  best  "society."  Tliey  were  the 
men,  too,  who  controlled  the  railroads  and  the  railroad  stocks,  who 
manipulated  and  watered  the  stock,  and  who  made  an  American  rail- 
road alike  a  danger  to  the  public  and  a  disgrace  to  the  world.  They 
were  the  men  who  regarded  public  trusts  as  private  tools  for  selfish 
ends,  and  who  made  the  very  name  of  an  official  report  synonymous 
with  a  deliberate  lie. 

Robert  Goodheart's  eyes  were  opened  at  the  last.  He  saw  that 
an  honest  broker  had  precisely  the  same  chance  for  success  on  Wall 
and  Broad  Street  that  a  lami)  has  for  life  among  prairie  wolves ;  so 
be  abandoned  the  street  forever,  a  wiser  and  a  poorer  man.  But  he 
did  not  abandon  business  altogether :  he  could  not,  he  must  live. 
So  he  took  heart  once  more,  and  embarked  what  little  he  now  pos- 
sessed in  "trade."  He  was  successful  at  the  start;  but,  just  as  he 
began  to  realize  the  fact,  one  of  the  giants  in  his  line  of  business,  a 
Christian  merchant,  worth  half  a  hundred  millions  or  so,  who  owned 
palaces  and  churches  and  theatres,  and  had  more  money  than  he 
could  ever  spend  in  a  thousand  years,  and  to  whom  a  temporary  loss 
was,  of  course,  of  no  consequence,  marked  dotvn  the  prices  of  all  his 
line  of  goods,  and  did  business  at  a  loss  for  a  time,  —  for  just  long 
enough  to  ruin  Bobert  Goodheait,  and  bring  him  to  the  hammer. 


186  A  LAiTB  AMONG   WOLVES. 

Then  our  poor  hero,  like  a  phoenix,  ai-ose  from  his  ashes,  and  tried 
a  new  line  of  business  on  a  humbler  scale,  and  was  prospering  in  a 
modest  way,  when,  lo !  one  of  the  great  houses  in  his  vicinity  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  letting  their  patrons  have  certain  articles  in 
Goodheart's  line  at  cost  price,  so  as  to  induce  the  public  to  purchase 
njore  freely  of  their  goods  at  a  profit.  Of  course,  those  who  had, 
before  this,  bouglit  their  articles  of  Goodheart  now  deserted  him, 
procured  what  they  wanted  at  the  great  house  (by  doing  which, 
they  could  save  even  Goodheart's  moderate  profit)  ;  and  so  for  the 
second  time  his  business  was  ruined.  But  what  cared  the  great 
house  for  that?  For  the  third  time  Robert  Goodheart  tried  his  for- 
tune, and  attempted  to  manufacture  a  certain  article,  —  to  deserve 
success  by  procuring  the  best  materials,  and  engaging  siiilled  labor 
at  a  fair  rate  of  compensation.  But  how  could  he  thus  compete  witli 
the  monster  factories  which  only  paid  "starvation  wages,"  and  which 
did  not  hesitate  to  defraud  the  public  with  inferior  material  and  work- 
manship? So  for  the  third  time  Robert  Goodheart,  iu  his  checkered 
career,  found  himself  a  ruined  man.  Meanwhile  he  was  cheated  by 
the  petty  tradesmen  with  whom  he  dealt.  His  tailor  swindled  him, 
and  his  shoemaker  ;  his  butcher  and  his  baker  swindled  him  ;  in  every 
thing  he  ate,  drank,  or  wore,  he  was  swindled.  His  agents  were  all 
rogues :  his  insurance  agents  were  all  liars.  He  found  himself  in  a 
world  and  whirl  of  falsehoods.  In  sheer  despair  he  bought  a  ticket 
in  a  lottery  highly  indorsed,  and  he  found  the  lottery  and  indorse- 
ment a  swindle. 

A  friend  borrowed  money  from  him,  under  a  promise  of  immediate 
payment :  he  never  saw  his  friend  or  money  again.  Another  bor- 
rowed money  on  worthless  securities.  A  man  to  whom  he  had  lent 
money  on  real  estate  "  failed,"  and  then  it  was  ascertained  that  the 
estate  was  in  his  wife's  name  :  another  obtained  large  sums  of  money 
by  false  representations.  A  confidential  friend  drew  on  him  at  sight 
for  some  money,  pleading  urgent  necessity,  but  never  redeemed  tiie 
draft.  A  confidential  clerk  forged  his  signature  to  a  check,  and  then 
absconded :  and,  lastly,  a  small  sum  of  money,  on  which  he  had  de- 
pended, was  swallowed  up  by  the  failure  of  the  savings-bank ;  and 


MEDICINE  AND  LAW.  187 

what  little  furniture  he  had  was  seized  by  his  landlord,  who  turned 
him  out  in  the  streets  without  a  dollar.  And  all  this  time  Robert 
Goodheart  had  never  cheated  a  man  out  of  a  penny.  He  had  been, 
what  he  promised  to  be,  an  honest  man  of  business,  and  had  received 
the  inevitable  reward  of  liis  honesty.  So  it  came  to  pass,  that,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  18 — ,  in  this  Christian  city  of  New  York,  a  man 
failed  in  life,  utterly,  hopelessly,  irretrievably,  and  yet  he  was  an 
honest,  hard-working  man.  Meanwhile  the  other  members  of  the 
Goodheart  family  had  been  pursuing  their  own  life-paths,  and  each 
had  been  striving  to  be  "  honest "  in  his  own  way. 

Thus  Francis  Goodlieart,  the  second  of  the  brothers  (while  Robert 
had  been  giving  himself  up  to  speculation  and  to  trade) ,  had  been 
devoting  himself  to  study  and  a  medical  career.  He  found  the  theory 
of  medicine  absolutely  glorious,  but  he  found  its  practice  absolutely 
disgraceful.  As  a  science,  medicine  is  sublime :  as  a  pursuit,  it  is 
sublimely  ridiculous.  The  art  of  healing  in  modern  times  is  simply 
too  often  the  art  of  humbug,  — a  mixture  in  equal  proportions  of  cant 
and  imposture.  The  allopaths  quarrel  with  the  homcuopaths.  The 
eclectics  ignore  both,  and  the  hydropaths  all  three.  He  soon  discov- 
ered that  the  modern  author  is  the  incarnation  of  modern  conceit. 
He  is  simply  a  word-juggler,  who  plays  his  tricks  with  language  to 
astonish  or  amuse,  not  to  benefit.  Out  of  sixty-two  professional 
doctors  of  whom  Francis  Goodheart  made  the  acquaintance,  he 
ascertained  eight  were  boors,  twenty-three  either  beats  or  beggars, 
twenty-five  were  libertines  ;  while,  of  the  whole  number,  fortji'-one 
were  either  avowedly  or  in  reality  sceptics,  —  mockere  of  God  and 
immortality,  —  and  fifty-three  were  drunkards.  Francis  Goodheart 
soon  ascertained,  by  practical  experience,  that  doctors  are  charlatans 
with  diplomas.  Sickened  of  medicine,  Francis  Goodheart  rushed  to 
its  antithesis,  —  the  law.  Law  is  justice,  and  justice  is  an  attribute 
of  divinity  :  therefore  law  is  divine.  It  may  be  so  ;  but  one  famous 
New-York  lawj'er  is  a  living,  moving,  money-making  bundle  of  tech- 
nicalities. Another  has  made  a  world-wide  fame  by  his  mastery  of 
legal  forms :  another  has  done  every  thing  by  not  doing  it.  He 
succeeds   in  putting  every  thing  off:    he  is  the  apostle  of  delay. 


188  AN  "  OPENING  "  IN  POLITICS. 

Another,  who  is  sleek  and  fat,  with  country-house,  big  diamonds, 
lias  achieved  pre-eminence  by  two  simple  processes,  —  fleecing  clients 
and  bribing  courts;  another,  by  a  high  "religious"  character,  look- 
ing at  these  bright  and  shining  lights,  mindful  of  tlie  characteristic 
truth  that  James  P^isk,  jun.,  was  the  highly  successful  man  of  his 
day,  and  Jay  Gould  is  his  highly  envied  successor ;  while,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  a  man  was  sentenced  to  prison  because  he  "stole"  a 
loaf  of  bread  to  keep  his  wife  and  child  from  starving.  Seeing 
and  remembering  all  this,  Francis  Goodheart,  just  as  he  had  pre- 
viously abandoned  medicine,  now  abandoned  the  law. 

But  at  this  juncture,  according  to  Mr.  Reed,  somebody  sug- 
gested to  Mr.  Goodheart  that  there  was  a  great  opening  for  an 
honest  man  in  New- York  politics  (!) ;  and,  accordingly,  Mr. 
Goodheart  availed  himself  of  tliis  "  opening." 

Francis  Goodheart  commenced  his  political  career  by  becoming  an 
assistant  alderman.  In  this  capacity  he  honestly  endeavored  to  do  iiis 
duty.  But  one  of  his  colleagues  was  an  ignorant  man,  —  a  grossly 
ignorant  man,  —  who,  instead  of  attending  "primary"  meetings, 
sliould  have  been  sent  to  a  primary  school ;  another  assistant  alder- 
man traded  in  his  "  influence  "  precisely  as  he  traded  in  his  soap  and 
candles ;  a  third  was  a  toper,  who  did  not  draw  a  sober  breath  from 
Monday  morning  till  Saturday  niglit :  a  fourth  sold  the  whiskey  on 
which  the  third  got  drunk ;  while  a  fifth  never  performed  a  single 
dut^fcqu'.red  by  his  office,  —  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  no 
hypocrite,  for  he  never  even  pretended  to  perform  it. 

Among  Francis  Goodheart's  political  associates  there  was  a  rascal 
whose  "influence"  was  five  times  that  of  Goodheart.  Then,  there 
was  a  "  shoulder-hitter  "  and  a  "  plug-ugly,"  whose  "  influence  "  was 
five  times  greater  than  that  of  the  rascal  again,  and  of  course,  there- 
fore, twenty-five  times  greater  than  Francis  Goodheart's.  Then, 
there  was  a  notorious  "  ballot-box  stuff er,"  very  expert  in  his  branch 
of  the  profession,  very  much  in  demand  at  elections,  whose  prestige 
was  greater  than  that  of  the  rascal  and  the  rowdy  combined,  and  who 
was,  therefore,  more  influential  than  fifty  Goodhearts.        •    ' 


A  "MODEL''   POLITICIAN.  189 

And  then  there  was  one  man,  one  prominent  politician,  whoso 
weiglit  in  the  couusela  of  tlie  metropolia  of  the  nation  far  surpassed 
tlie  combined  influence  of  the  rascal,  the  rowdy,  and  the  ballot-box 
stuffer,  with  Francis  Goodiieart'a  "  tin-own  in." 

Tiiis  miglity  man  made  and  unmade  mayors  and  congressmen  :  he 
liad  been  a  congressman  himself.  lie  controlled  the  police  and  the 
police-commissioners.  He  filled  up  political  "  slates,"  and  rubbed 
tliem  out  at  his  own  sweet  will.  He  dictated  the  nominees  of  his 
party.  He  was  a  Saul  and  a  Samuel  combined,  as  well  as  a  Goliath, 
in  the  political  Israel. 

Assuredly,  thought  Francis  Goodheart,  this  great  man  must  be  a 
giant  of  mind.  But  he  was  not :  he  was  only  a  giant  of  muscle. 
Assuredly,  thought  Francis  Goodheart,  this  ruler  must  be  a  model 
man.  But  he  was  not :  he  was  only  a  model  prize-Jighter  and  a 
model  gambler,  —  a  prize-fighter  who  boasted  that  he  had  always  hit 
from  the  shoulder;  a  gambler  who  prided  himself  that  his  "game" 
was  "square,"  not  "skin,"  —  a  man  who  was  too  cautious  to  get 
drunk,  and  too  politic  to  lie ;  whose  word  was  his  bond ;  and  that 
was  all  that  his  warmest  friend  or  partisan  could  claim  in  his  behalf. 

Francis  Goodiieart  also  found  that  what  are  called  ballots  are 
just  as  purchasable  as  what  are  called  bullets,  —  just  as  easily  pro- 
curable to  order,  and  even  more  dangerous. 

The  votes  of  the  poor  were  controlled  by  their  employers.  Mill- 
owners  directed  factory  operatives.  Railroad  presitleuts  swayed 
railroad  employees.  Merchants  directed  clerks.  Elven  the  govern- 
ment itself  went  into  the  business  of  "influencing  elections,"  and 
gave  work  to  thousands  of  men  for  a  few  weeks  or  days  in  order 
that  it  might  receive  the  benefit  of  the  votes  for  which  it  had  stained 
its  record  with  "  bribery  and  corruption." 

Voters  were  traded  in,  trafficked  for,  —  transferred  precisely  as 
cattle,  hogs,  or  other  live-stock ;  and,  like  live-stock,  hogs,  and  cat- 
tle, they  were  disposed  of  to  the  highest  bidder.  It  was  a  matter  of 
price,  —  no  less,  no  more. 

The  votes  of  the  rich,  too,  were  also  for  sale,  and  were  sold  regu- 
larly.    Merchants  were  shown  certain  favors  at  the  Custom  House ; 


190      ^JV  "INSIDE  VIEyV"   OF  NEW-YORK  POLITICS. 

tliey  were  permitted  to  cheat  Uncle  Sam ;  they  were  allowed  to 
"smuggle."  Real-estate  milliouiiaires  were  "  assessed  "  at  less  than 
one-third  of  the  true  value  of  their  real  estate.  Railroad-kings  luul 
their  "  taxes  "  arranged.  And  in  return  for  those  unlawful  favors 
these  rich  men  east  their  votes  and  their  influence  on  the  side  of  their 
interest,  and  even  lent  their  names  publicly  to  "whitewash"  tlie 
men  who  bribed  them. 

Goodiieart  also  found  that  the  system  of  sinecures,  or  merely 
nominal  offices,  drawing,  however,  real  and  liberal  pay  for  needless 
work,  and  oftentimes  for  no  work  at  all,  was  in  full  blast,  and 
much  favored  by  rich  men  for  their  relatives.  He  became  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  one  wealthy  [jolitician,  whose  two  nephews 
were  thus  fattened  on  the  public  crib,  drawing  large  salaries,  but 
never  going  near  the  City  Hall,  saving  once  every  two  or  tluee 
montlis  to  sign  the  warrants  for  their  pay.  He  was  also  cognizant 
of  an  official,  high  in  place  and  prestige,  who  had  inscribed  no  less 
than  seven  names  on  the  city  pay-roll,  he  himself  drawing  the  pay 
for  all  the  seven,  which  were  merely  so  many  aliases  for  himself. 

Francis  Goodheart  also  found  in  a  very  short  time  (the  discovery 
was  forced  upon  him :  any  fool  would  have  found  it  out)  that  the 
political  many  are  completely  at  tlie  mercy  and  in  the  power  of  the 
political  few  ;  tliat  the  men  rule  about  ten  million  (the  millions  mean- 
while insisting  loudly  and  proudly  that  they  rnle  themselves) .  He 
discovered  that  there  was  no  machinery  in  the  world  so  effective  as 
political  machinery ;  and  that,  by  a  simple  series  of  "  combinations  " 
and  "  primaries  "  and  "  caucuses  "  and  "  conventions,"  a  very  few 
designing  rogues  could  do  whatever  they  saw  best  —  or  worst  — 
with  a  world  of  self-deluded  calves  who  called  themselves  "  free  and 
enlightened  citizens."  Francis  Goodheart  saw  all  this,  discovered 
all  this ;  and  his  heart  grew  sick  within  him.  Still  he  hoped  on, 
worked  on,  aspired  on,  and  determined  to  penetrate  even  yet  deeper 
into  the  mysteries  of  politics,  trusting  that  he  would  find  erelong  a 
better  and  a  brighter  side,  "  the  silver  lining  of  the  cloud." 

By  Herculean  efforts  Francis  Goodheart  contrived,  without  posi- 
tive trickery  or  dishonesty,  to  be  elected  an  assemblyman,  and,  in 


AT  ALBANY.  191 

the  discharge  of  his  official  duties,  went  to  Albany.  To  Francis 
Goodlieart's  sensitive  soul  it  was  like  going  to  —  hell.  To  him  the 
capital  of  the  State  of  New  YorI<  was  indeed  a  pandemonium.  Ilis 
colleagues  of  the  Legislature,  of  both  branches,  were  drunl<ards  and 
gamblers,  where  tliey  were  not  libertines,  and  were  bongiit  and  sold 
once  (or  in  a  good  aeasou  twice)  every  twenty-four  liours.  P^verybody 
who  had  any  business  with  the  Legislature  commenced  operations  by 
bribing  the  members,  —  "influencing"  them  it  was  euphoniously 
styled.  A  number  of  men,  and  every  now  and  tlien  a  woman,  made 
a  handsome  living  by  serving  as  "go-betweens"  the  Legislature 
(wliioh  was  ready  to  grind  any  axes)  and  those  wlio  had  axes  to  be 
ground ;  seeing  that  the  legislators  were  duly  bribed,  and  that  the 
private  axes  were  ground  fine  on  the  public  grindstone.  These  use- 
ful go-betweens  were  known  as  "  lobbyists  ;  "  and  among  them  were 
to  be  found  "  venerable  "  and  "  respectable"  men,  —  men  who  were 
"powers  behind  the  throne,"  and  who,  though  not  members  of  the 
legislative  Ixxly,  were  the  "breeches-pocket"  of  the  Legislature. 

Albany  was  the  city  of  jobbery.  Every  measure  started  or  intro- 
duced there  became,  sooner  or  later,  —  generally  sooner,  —  a  job, 
from  the  necessity  of  the  case.     It  was  in  the  air. 

Disgusted  and  disheartened  at  his  Albany  experiences,  Francis 
Goodheart  abandoned  all  further  aspirations  at  the  State  Capitol 
(which  was  about  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  as  he  had  not  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  at  any  further  advancement  in  that  quarter),  and,  return- 
ing to  New  York,  managed,  by  the  influence  of  a  ward  politician 
(who  thought  he  could  "use"  him),  not  by  any  merit  of  his  own, 
to  become  connected  with  one  of  the  city  departments. 

Here,  as  a  New- York  politician,  a  New- York  official,  living,  mov- 
ing, and  exercising  his  functions  in  the  metropolis,  he  became  per- 
sonally and  officially  cognizant  of  the  existence  of  an  organized 
system  of  political  rascality  which  far  surpassed  any  thing  of  which 
he  had  any  previous  conc-ption. 

He  was  forced,  in  his  own  despite,  to  flounder  about  in  a  pool  of 
political  pollution,  in  which  were  wallowing,  steeped  up  to  the  very  lips 
with  mud  and  money,  all  his  fellow-officials,  of  low  and  high  degree. 


192  OUB  "JUDGES.** 

He  found  the  courts  corrupt.  "  Judges  "  were  "  elected  "  tlirouglj 
the  direct  "influence"  of  certain  uotork>U9  "politicians;"  and, 
being  grateful  and  wise,  these  "judges"  played  into  the  bands  of 
those  who  elected  tliera  and  did  their  bidding,  using  the  machinery 
of  their  respective  (tiiough  not  respectable)  courts  for  "  political  pur- 
poses :  "  other  "  judges  "  bought  their  otHces,  and  made  tiiem  "  pay  " 
an  enormous  prolit,  selling  their  "decisions  "  to  tlie  higiiest  bidder. 

One  judge  was  "identified"  with  certain  "railroad  interests;" 
and  his  "decisions"  were,  of  course,  in  the  "interests"  of  tiie 
railroad.  Anotlier  judge,  though  immensely  rich,  owning,  among 
other  real  estate,  various  houses  of  ill-fame,  which  yielded  an  enor- 
mous revenue,  still  was  so  covetous  of  money  that  any  litigant  with 
a  long  purse  could  buy  him  as  certainly,  though  not  as  cheaply,  as 
any  article  at  the  dollar-store.  A  third  judge  "  truckled  "  for  popu- 
larity, and,  while  sentencing  a  criminal  who  had  no  "influence"  to 
the  full  extent  of  the  law,  inflicted  upon  anotlier  criminal,  equally 
guilty,  but  with  influence,  the  minimum  penalty.  A  fourth  judge  was 
a  notorious  libertine  and  drunkard,  who  nevei  spared  man  in  his 
wrath,  or  woman  in  his  lust. 

There  were  certain  lawyers  who  "had  the  ears"  of  certain 
"  judges,"  and  could  do  with  them  what  they  pleased.  These  law- 
yers, of  course,  were  in  great  demand,  and  received  large  fees  for 
their  "  influence,"  and  "divided"  with  the  judges.  Nepotism  was 
unblushingly  practised,  and  the  relative  of  a  judge  was  almost  as 
great  and  almost  as  rich  as  a  judge  himself.  The  latter  would 
appoint  (in  any  case  with  money  in  it)  the  former  as  a  "  referee;  " 
and  the  referee  would  "remember"  the  judge,  and  both  would  get 
rich  together. 

The  police-courts  were  as  corrupt  as  the  courts  of  a  higher  grade. 
Police-justices  were  incompetent  or  idle,  or  dissolute  or  venal ;  while 
their  clerks  "run  the  machine"  for  the  "benefit  of  those  it  might 
concern,"  being  "  concerned,"  of  course,  chiefly  for  themselves. 

The  police  were  as  corrupt  as  the  courts.  The  executioners  of 
the  laws  were  as  venal  as  the  expounders  of  the  laws.  The  superin- 
tendent of  the  police  was  the  bosom  friend,  the  public  and  private 


THE  NEW-YORK  "GOLDEN"  RULE.  193 

ftssopiato.  of  tlie  very  men  whom  it  was  his  official  duty  to  nn-cst  and 
punish.  Tiip  police  detective  system  was  an  abomination  :  l)iil)oiy 
and  compoimdinji;  a  felony  were  of  every-day  occurrence  ;  the  detec- 
tives "  divitied  "  witli  tlie  tiiieves  tliey  protected,  and  bought  diamond 
riiiijs  and  liouses  and  lots  on  twelve  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Gani- 
hlers  walked  up  Broadway  on  the  arm  of  magistrates,  and  every 
night  tlie  nuigistrate  took  8U|)per  at  tlie  faro-bank  of  the  gambler. 
Tlie  mistresses  of  prominent  oMicials  were  as  well  known  as,  and 
more  sought  after,  than  tlieir  wives ;  tlie  influence  of  the  former 
lieing  ten  to  one  that  of  the  h'Uer.  Judges  supped  with  actresses 
nightly,  and  on  Sunday  niglits  participated,  with  those  free-and-easy 
ci'iatures,  in  a  drunken  orgie  held  at  a  public  building  erected  for 
political  purposes.  Railroad  magnates,  fearing  neither  God  nor 
man,  trusting  to  money  and  technicalities  to  keep  them  out  of  Stato 
prison  (the  only  hell  they  believed  in),  used  laws,  legislatures,  and 
judges  as  their  bought  and  paid-for  tools,  and  with  the  proceeds 
of  their  rascalities  bedecked  and  bedizened  their  pet  courtesans, 
who  flaunted  theii  busts  and  diamonds  in  the  faces  of  wives  and 
daughters  at  our  fashionable  balls ;  while  fathers  and  husbands  ko- 
to-oed  before  them  in  the  profoundest  adoration. 

Ofllcial  "position"  was  only  another  name  for  ofUcial  "pecula- 
tion." The  only  standard  of  duty  was  "the  golden  ruh."  Every- 
body wanted  a  "fat"  office.  The  sheriff,  and  the  register,  and  the 
county  clerk,  and  a  dozen  more  offices,  were  fortunes  yearly. 

Meanwhile  prison  discipline  was  a  farce  to  the  prisoner  who  had 
money,  and  a  piece  of  barbaritj'  to  the  poor  devil  who  had  none. 
Murderers  were  lionized,  and  were  never  hung  unless  they  were 
poor:  unless  they  wished  it,  they  were  seldom  even  arrested.  Swift 
and  sure  justice  might  do  well  enough  for  "  the  effete  barbarisms" 
of  Europe;  but  it  was  far  behind  this  "enlightened"  age,  and 
unworthy  of  the  land  of  the  spread-eagle. 

Under  such  a  condition  of  things,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
honest  Francis  Good  heart,  like  his  honest  brother  Robert, 
failed  as  a  New- York  politician. 


19-4  TUE  UR0WNST0NEFRONT8. 

This  i)icture  of  life  and  struggle  in  the  great  nu'tropolis  is 
liighly  colored ;  but  in  too  many  reHi)ect8  ita  outlines  arc;  truth- 
ful, und  its  scenes  are  realistic :  just  as  are  the  main  points  in 
the  satirist's  companion  picture  of  an  average  rich  and  fash- 
ionable New- York  family,  whom  he  describes  under  the  sug- 
gestive name  of  "  the  Hrownstonefronts." 

Young  Brownstonefront,  "the  son  of  his  fut^c,"  is  thus 
introduced :  — 

He  was  a  crack  shot,  a  capital  horseman  ;  always  won  at  canis  and 
billiards ;  could  talk  French  like  a  native ;  could  sing  an  Italian 
love-song  with  Urignoli  himself ;  was  In  demand  for  "  the  German  ;  " 
had  read  every  lewd  book  ever  written,  either  in  the  original  or  In 
the  translation ;  was  a  favorite  with  yacht-owners  for  their  sunniier 
cruises  ;  was  an  habltne  of  all  the  French  balls  ;  iiad  no  faitli  In  man 
or  woman ;  cared  for  neither  God  nor  Devil ;  was  a  connoisseur  in 
wines ;  owned  half  a  million  in  real  estate,  yet  owed  everybody,  his 
washerwoman  included  ;  had  a  different  pair  of  pants  for  every  day 
in  the  week;  doted  on  "fancy"  neckties  and  perfumes,  and  curled 
his  hair;  told  a  lie  with  a  coolness  which  truth  itself  might  envy; 
ate  five  times  a  day ;  never  gave  away  a  dollar  in  his  life  ;  was  bor- 
rowing money  all  the  time,  and  was  a  member  of  the  leading  clubs. 

The  "Brownstonefront"  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue  is  thus 
pen-painted :  — 

They  called  it  "  home,"  but  "  home  "  it  was  none.  It  may  have 
been  a  "mansion,"  or  a  "palace,"  or  a  "residence;"  but  it  was 
not  a  "  home." 

It  was  costly,  but  not  comfortable;  "  deucedly "  expensive, 
"stunningly"  fashionable,  the  "swell  thing,"  aud  all  that,  but  any 
thing  but  homelike. 

There  is  no  place  for  mere  "homes"  on  "the  Avenue:"  space 
there  is  far  too  valuable  to  be  devoted  to  what  a  satirist  has  called 
"our  domestic  affectations." 


A  FIFTII-AVEyVE  "HOME."  195 

The  "  BrownHtonofroiit  MiinHl<}ii "  was  ii  hrowiistone  front,  of 
couroo,  8U}?gP8tivt'  in  ecjuiil  proportions  of  jjold  nnd  j^ioom.  Its  t'xti»- 
rior  was  mnrked  by  cIal)orat(',  expensive,  but  tasteless  stotie-work ; 
ft  prominent  carriaj^e-step ;  and  two  entrances,  tlistinetively  appro- 
priated, the  one  to  the  family,  the  otlier  to  tiic  menials ;  and  hu>;e 
windows,  in  which  real  lace  curtains  of  almost  fabulous  cost  were 
always  displayed  to  create  Envy  in  the  bosom  of  Vulgarity,  and 
Disj^ust  in  the  mind  of  Taste.  ^Vithin,  the  rooms  were  large  and 
cheerless,  de8i)lte  their  gaudy  furniture,  which  had  cost  some  forty 
thousand  dollars.  And  although  the  walls  were  tilled  with  '^jmint- 
ings  "  whose  gilt  frames  were  worth  "  a  round  tliousand,"  yet  the 
pictures  in  themselves  were  worthies'  ;  and  the  lout  enaemhle  of  the 
houachold  ornamentation  was  repulsive.  The  house  was  dark  (it 
was  too  l)ig  for  sunlight)  ;  and,  like  many  modern  palaces,  it  was 
imperfectly  ventilated.  It  saddened  first,  and  then  slKled.  The 
ground  on  which  it  stood  was  worth  several  dollars  au  inch,  but  there 
was  not  twenty-flve  cents'  worth  of  genuine  comfort  in  it.  As  often 
happens  in  these  gew-gaw  shells,  the  phniibing-work  was  defective, 
and  tlie  splendors  were  marred  by  smells.  The  chain?  in  the  dining- 
room  cost  81,325.50,  —  we  love  to  be  precise,  —  and  the  mirrors  in 
the  parlors  had  been  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  85,500.00.  The  lam- 
brequins had  cost  8700.00 ;  and  the  exact  bill  for  the  fresco-work, 
such  as  it  was,  had  Iwen  85,85.3.27 ;  but  the  total  cost  of  all 
the  books  in  the  house  was  less  than  three  hundred  dollars,  and 
the  major  portion  of  even  this  expenditure  had  been  for  the 
"covers." 

To  this  Fifth-avenue  "  home"  hied  Mr.  Richard  Brownstonefront, 
jun. ;  and  he  reached  it  just  at  dinner-time.  The  menu  of  that  day 
(or  rather  night)  was  sumptuous,  embracing  soup  i  la  reine  de  IIol- 
huidc,  boiled  halibut,  egg  sauce,  with  potatoes  A  la  duehesse,  turkey 
stuffed,  cranberry  sauce,  ham  glac6,  champagne  sauce,  ribs  of  beef, 
lobster  salad,  pate  with  truffles,  pigeons  en  compote  k  la  Fran(,"aise, 
six  vegetables,  three  varieties  of  pastry,  Madeira  wine,  jelly,  maca- 
roons de  Nancy,  with  fruits,  etc.  ;  and  yet  that  very  night  the 
"help"  of  the   Brownstonefront  mansion  sat  down,  after  a  hard 


190  THE  "  GIRLS  OF  THE  PERIOD." 

(lay'n  work,  to  pork  nntl  Iwims,  potntoon,  nnd  n  pio ;  nn<1  n  poor 
woman  who  litul  ap|>li('il  witli  Iht  Hick  cliild  in  lior  urnm,  iit  tliu 
Ittist'iiicnt-iloor,  "  for  homk'  cold  victiiulH  or  bread,  for  tlu>  love  of 
Ctod,"  had  beeu  drivuu  uwiiy  einitty-huudud  uuil  liuii}jry-nioutht'd. 

Mrs.  IJrownstonefront,  tlio  wife  and  mother,  was  tall  and 
Blender,  and  had  been  originally  good-looking.  She  Htill  looked 
well,  —  thankn  to  powder  and  paint  and  enamel,  and  Madame 
Jumel,  and  glove-fitting  eorsc^ts,  and  the  hairilresser,  and  bella- 
donna, and  pencilling  with  India  ink,  and  ronge,  and  cosmet- 
ics, and  French  paste,  and  chalk,  and  arsenic,  and  her  dentist, 
and  cotton,  and  padded  sleeves,  and  padded  arms,  ami  tinted 
nails,  and  tight  lacing,  and  false  hips,  and  buutleH,  and  French 
boots. 

The  mother  and  her  two  daughters,  the  Misses  Brownstone- 
front,  are  characterized  as  follows :  — 

All  three  ladies  were,  in  the  American  sense  of  the  term,  "  fiisii- 
ionahle"  (i.e.,  money-and-time-wasting)  women.  Tliey  promenaded 
Broadway,  shopped  at  Stewart's,  Imd  bills  at  Tiffany's,  imd  their 
dresses  made  by  Worth,  had  a  box  at  the  opera,  a  villa  at  New- 
port, kept  their  carriage,  an<l  footman  in  livery,  had  been  to  Paris, 
talked  French  execrably,  waltzed  divinely,  flirted  d  Voutrance,  rel- 
ished (lonble-entendres,  wore  the  lowest  of  low  necks  and  the  short- 
est of  short  sleeves,  were  eneyclopajdias  of  gossip  and  tittle-tattle, 
were  dictionaries  of  small-talk,  lived  high,  loved  French  novels 
(translated),  and  doted  on  French  plays  (adapted),  copied  the  tricks 
of  actresses  and  the  styles  of  the  demi-monde,  could  and  did  drink 
a  good  deal  of  wine  at  parties,  receptions,  New-Year's  Days,  and  the 
like,  kept  late  hours,  indulged  in  artificial  compliments  and  friend- 
ships, and  "knew"  more  men  than  ever  visited  them  at  their 
residence. 

The  mother  had  been  in  her  day  "  a  belle,"  and  her  name  had 
been  bandied  about  in  connection  with  a  certain  noted  roue  of  an 
Italian  tenor;  Miss  Cleopatra  had  been  at  one  time  seriously  "corn- 


A  "FASUIONAliLE''  FAMILY.  107 

promUcd  "  with  a  German  count,  whom  aho  hud  picked  up  on  lliu 
lihinu ;  while  Misa  Ant^uiinu'a  "  deuooclly  nvat"  fuut  uud  uul<lu  weiu 
till!  (ulinimtioii  of  uiiy  niiinliur  uf  "yuung  uiun  uLtoul  luwu,"  for 
whoHC  Ijcuollt  sttid  eiiurniM  were '•  urtlcHHly  "  diupliiyud  two  or  tlir».'i' 
tinicH  a  vi/vvk.  on  liroudway,  uud  every  Sunday  morning  uud  uflur* 
uoun  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

"  FuHliion  "  wuu  tlie  e»peciul  liol)i)y  of  Alra.  Sopliia  Ilrownstone- 
fruut,  n^e  Von  Diumoiuleer.  Slie  tuiltcd  not  what  fuMliion  wuh,  or  tilio 
wua  fu8liionul)le  :  tliut  tliey  acre  fuHliioiiable  wus  all  site  denuuuled  of 
lier"8et."  Had  Madame  Ui'Htoll  lierHelf  audili-iily  la'comc  »•  fasli- 
ioiial)le,"  hIic  would  liaye  found  a  warm  friend  and  admirer  in 
Mra.  .So|)liia  Hrownatonefront,  jiA;  Von  Diamondcer.  Lii\e  all  true 
native  Amcrleana,  ahe  prostrated  herself  in  ahjeet  adoration  heforo 
the  glory  of  a  "position;"  and  she  never  cared  a  whit  how  (lie 
''  poaition  "  woa  obtained.  Had  Satan  himself  been  an  "  old  KnirU- 
crboeker"  or  a  "distinguished  foreigner,"  ahe  would  have  liowed 
lihuully  to  the  Devil.  Practical  woman  that  ahe  was,  the  never 
questioned  an  accepted  fact. 

"  Dreaa  "  was  the  deity  of  her  daughters.  They  were  t'.ie  irue 
Catholica  of  the  mode,  and  their  Virgin  Mary  waa  the  goddeaa  of 
the  toilet.  Their  whole  souls  "went  out"  in  ailks  and  aatius,  and 
they  dated  the  creation  of  the  world  from  "opening-day."  They 
would  never  have  betrayed  their  Master,  like  Judas,  for  thirty  pieces 
of  silver  :  it  would,  in  tlieir  case,  have  coat  some  thirty  or  forty  yards 
of  velvet.  Modest  creaturea  that  they  were,  they  were  all  the  time 
thinking  how  to  cover  ^  heir  nakedness. 

All  tlieir  "dear"  friends  and  female  intimates  dressed  superbly. 
True,  one  of  those  "friends"  had,  by  her  extravagance,  driven  her 
husband  into  dishonorable  bankruptcy;  another  "intimate,"  whose 
dress  far  exceeded  her  father's  purse,  was  openly  "  talked  about;  " 
while  a  third  neglected  her  family  to  adorn  the  promenade.  But 
what  of  that?  they  all  did  "dress;"  and  people,  you  know,  will 
talk. 

And  80  the  Misses  Brownstonefront  were  very  "dressy."  They 
possessed  between  them    arty-two   silk  dresses  (twenty  party  and 


198  "DRESS"  AND  "SOCIETY." 

evening  dresses),  twelve  cloaks  (embracing  two  seal-skin  sacks, 
worth  five  hundred  dollars  each),  four  velvet  cloaks  (costing  about 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars  for  the  four),  two  camel's-hair  shawls 
(worth  four  thousand  dollars  the  pair),  and  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  laces,  —  point-lace,  point  applique,  Valenciennes; 
then,  they  wore  during  the  year  some  twenty  bonnets  (averaging 
forty  dollars  apiece),  some  eighty  pairs  of  gloves,  some  hundreds 
of  handkerchiefs.     But,  really,  life  is  short. 

As  for  New- York  "  sock  -y,"  it  is  "  aummed  up  "  by  the  satirist 
in  this  one  piquant  paragraph :  — 

The  "old  lady,  Mrs.  Brownstonefront,"  called  about  five  hundred 
men  and  women  whom  she  knew  more  or  less  intimately,  —  a  hun- 
dred of  whom  were  swindlers  (undetected),  a  hundred  more  of  whom 
were  bankrupts  (as  yet  undiscovered),  a  hundred  more  of  whom  were 
rvnh,  libertines,  and  gamblers  (known  as  such),  a  hundred  more  of 
whom  were  old  ladies  who  were  trying  to  sell  their  daughters  to  the 
highest  bidder,  while  the  last  hundred  were  young  ladies  who  were 
displaying  their  matrimonial  points  wherever  and  however  they  could 
to  the  aforesaid  three  hundred  swindlers,  bankrupts,  and  roues,  —  she 
called  these  five  hundred  '■'■society." 

And  there  are  five  thousand  more  like  her  in  New  York. 

But  it  must  be  carefully  borne  in  mind  by  the  reader,  that 
there  are  two  sides  to  every  question,  and  generally  more  than 
two  sides  to  every  question  or  point  connected  with  New- York 
City. 

While  the  experiences  and  observations  of  the  brothers 
Goodheart,  and  while  the  pictures  of  the  Brownstonefronts, 
are  truthful  and  realistic  as  far  as  they  extend, — they  do  not 
extend  far  enough,  —  they  only  apply  to  a  part  of  New  York, 
not  to  New  York  as  a  whole. 

New  York,  as  a  whole,  is,  with  all  its  evils,  a  good,  as  well  as 
a  great,  city.  This  fact,  tliis  comforting  and  consoling  fact, 
this  better  and  brighter  fact,  is  too  often  forgotten  by  New- 


A  POINT  THAT  SHOULD  BE  REMEMBERED.  199 

Yorkers  themselves,  and  is  steadily  ignored  by  the  New- York 
press,  and  writers  on  New  York. 

The  New- York  papers  are  full  of  murders,  suicides,  thefts, 
scandals,  and  horrors.  But  why  are  they  full  of  them?  Sim- 
ply because  these  are  the  remarkable  exceptions  to  the  ordinary 
state  of  order,  decency,  honesty,  peace,  and  security.  If  they  were 
normal  occurrences, — these  murders,  thefts,  scandals,  and  hor- 
rors, —  the  papers  would  not  record  them ;  they  would  not  be 
able  to ;  but  they  simply  record  them  now  as  exceptional  occur- 
rences. 

If  people  would  but  bear  this  simple,  self-evident  point  in 
mind,  they  would  carry  about  with  them  much  more  accurate 
notions  of  New- York  life  than  generally  prevail. 

The  writer  once  met  a  dear,  good  old  lady,  who  loved  God, 
the  Bible,  and  her  fellow  men  and  women,  and  found  this 
blessed  Christian  lady  terribly  exercised  in  spirit,  having  just 
finished  the  perusal  of  a  morning  New- York  paper,  in  which 
she  had  read  graphic,  —  too  graphic,  —  elaborately  detailed,  — 
far  too  elaborately  detailed,  —  accounts  of  all  varieties  of  crimes 
and  horrors.  The  old  lady  put  down  her  paper  with  a  sigh 
and  a  shudder,  and  exclaimed  to  the  writer,  "What  a  wicked 
city  we  live  in ! " 

"  No,  madam,"  I  replied.  "  Say,  rather,  what  a  good  city  we 
live  in,"  And  then  I  explained  to  tlie  dear,  good  old  soul 
how  really  the  prominence  and  space  given  in  the  paper  to  the 
crimes  and  horrors  proved  how  extraordinary  and  exceptional 
they  were. 

"  No  paper  prints,"  said  I,  "  the  numberless  good  words  said 
and  good  deeds  done  yesterday  in  New  York  and  elsewhere, 
simply  because  they  are  numberless,  and  of  constant,  ordinary 
occurrence :  they  are,  fortunately,  matters  of  course,  and,  as 
such,  need  no  account  or  comment.  But  thank  God,  madam," 
I  devoutly  and  gratefully,  as  well  as  truthfully,  remarked, 


200  2UE  GOOD  SIDE  OF  NEW  YOBE. 

"  murder,  theft,  licentiousness,  blasphemy,  and  the  like,  are  un- 
usual enough  yet  to  challenge  attention." 

The  old  lady  seized  the  point  of  my  observations  at  once, 
and  appreciated  its  truth :  she  smiled,  and  from  that  day  has 
regarded  New- York  papers  and  New-York  City  very  differently 
from  the  light  in  which  she  formerly  considered  them. 

The  facts  are,  —  and  let  us  thank  God  for  them,  —  that  there 
are  vastly  more  good  and  honest  men,  and  vastly  more  good 
and  virtuous  women,  in  New  York,  than  there  are  men  and 
women  who  are  not  honest  or  virtuous. 

If  the  great  metropolis  leads  in  evil,  it  also  more  than  excels 
in  good.  Every  now  and  then  there  may  occur  a  "  carnival  of 
crime ; "  but  purity,  charity,  honesty,  industry,  and  religion  are 
"  always  with  us." 

New  York  is  a  religious  city,  as  already  hinted  at.  There  is 
one  place  of  worship,  on  the  average,  to  every  four  hundred 
people  in  the  metropolis ;  and  many  of  these  churches,  chapels, 
etc.,  are  crowded,  not  only  on  Sundays,  but  during  the  week. 

New  York  contains  twenty-two  public  libraries,  and  over  a 
hundred  large  first-class  private  libraries,  as  well  as  hundreds 
of  book-stores. 

New  York  likewise  contains  a  hundred  and  thirty-five  public 
schools  of  all  grades,  for  all  classes,  and  for  all  colors,  and 
employs  over  three  thousand  teachers.  The  metropolis  caii 
justly  boast  of  its  Columbia  College,  the  university  of  the  city 
of  New  York ;  the  famous  Cooper  Institute  free  schools  of 
art,  where  hundreds  of  young  women  have  laid  the  foundation 
of  a  useful,  profitable,  honorable  career ;  its  Free  Academy  and 
its  Normal  College ;  while  its  private  schools  —  such  as  Rut- 
gers Institute,  the  Charlier  Institute,  etc.  —  are  justly  cele- 
brated. 

The  metropolis  has  also  twenty-one  public  squares  and  parks, 
including  the  finest  pleasure-park  in  America,  the  Central  Park, 


SOMETHING   TO   THANK  GOB  FOB.  201 

as  free  to  the  tramp  us  to  the  niillioni'uire.  There  are  numerous 
public  and  private  galleries  of  art ;  some  of  the  private  gal- 
leries, such  as  Belmont's,  being  occaiaionally  thrown  open  to 
the  public. 

There  are  numerous  public  and  several  ''free"  baths.  There 
are  over  two  hundred  general  societies,  all  flourishing,  and  all 
instituted  for  worthy  objects.  There  are  sixty-three  trade 
societies,  all  doing  good,  and,  on  the  whole,  well  managed ; 
while  the  charities  of  New  York  are  literally  "  too  numerous 
to  mention."  A  mere  list  of  the  charitable  societies  and  enter- 
prises of  the  metropolis  would  occupy  pages  of  this  book. 
From  twenty-five  thousand  to  thirty  thousand  people  are 
relieved  by  them  annually.  May  it  not,  then,  be  said  of  the 
great  metropolis  to-day,  as  it  was  said  over  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago  of  Mary  Magdalene,  "  Her  sins,  which  are  many, 
are  forgiven  her ;  for  she  loved  much  "  (if  philanthropy  is  love, 
which  it  is) :  for  "  inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  to  the  least  of  these, 
ye  did  it  unto  me." 

And,  good  as  New  York  is,  it  is  growing  better  every  3  ear. 
Just  as  the  old  Five  Points,  the  most  terrible  spot  on  the 
American  continent,  is  now  "  wiped  out,"  and  the  old  Brewery, 
the  scene  of  misery  and  murder,  is  supplanted  by  a  public 
mission-house ;  so  other  evil  localities  in  the  great  city  are 
gradually,  slowly  but  surely,  being  purified.  The  American 
poet,  Lowell,  is  right,  —  "Humanity  moves  onward"  —  and 
upward.  "  Excelsior  "  is  the  motto,  not  only  of  Longfellow's 
immortal  poem,  but  of  the  city  of  New  York. 

This  being  so,  —  and  this  is  so,  as  any  careful  student  of  the 
metropolis  is  prepared  to  testify,  —  let  us  "thank  God,  and 
take  courage." 

Let  us  confess  the  errors,  concede  the  vices,  regret  the 
crimes,  of  New  York.  Let  us  picture,  if  we  will,  the  dark 
side  of  metropolitan  life.     But  let  us  ever  do  justice  to  the 


202  BOTH  SIDES. 

enterprise,   and  to  the  virtue,   morality,  and  religion,  upon 
which,  after  all  and  more  than  all,  the  metropolis  is  based. 

If,  like  a  famous  New-York  divine,  Rev.  Dr.  Crosby,  we 
must  confess  "the  shame  of  New  York,"  let  us  not  refuse 
to  concede  to  the  greatest  and  best  city  on  the  American  con- 
tinent its  meed  of  "  glory." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SEEKING     AND    FINDING     EMPLOYMENT.  —  NEW    YOBK     AT    NIGHT.  —  "THE 
8LEEPLE88    CITY."— TUB    DEMON    BUM. 

Into  the  great  city  which  I  have  just  described  (from  the 
experience  and  observation  of  later  years),  I  now  came,  a 
friendless  lad,  dependent  on  his  work  for  his  bread.  But 
where  to  get  the  work?  That  was  the  problem  which  pre- 
sented itself  to  me,  as  it  has  presented  itself  to  thousands  of 
others  before  and  since. 

Oh  I  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  work  in  New  York.  That  is, 
obtaining  your  first  work, — getting  your  start.  That  start  once 
obtained,  the  rest  is  comparatively  easy ;  as  the  French  say, 
"  C'est  le  premier  pas  qui  coUte "  ("  It  is  the  first  step  that 
costs  ").  Some  have  suffered  all  the  agonies  that  mind  and 
body  can  endure  ere  they  have  conquered  that  first  step ;  and 

some 

"  Have  by  wayside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life," 

before  the}"^  even  gained  that  "  start." 

But  I  was  more  favored  than  the  majority ;  although  I  had 
to  pass  through  a  certain  share  of  torture,  although  I  had  to 
walk  and  worry  and  wait  till  I  was  weary  and  worn  out,  yet, 
just  before  I  was  completely  exhausted,  I  obtained  my  chance, 
I  conquered  my  start. 

I  procured  employment  in  the  freight-department  of  the  far- 
famed  Erie  Railroad,  under  M.  A.  A.  Gaddis,  one  of  the  local 
freight-agents  of  the  road.    My  former  experience  in  railroad- 

203 


204  NEW  YORK  AT  NIGHT. 

ing  gave  me  favor,  and  within  a  few  weeks  I  hatl  my  place 
and  work  and  wages  among  the  struggling  myriads  of  the 
metropolis. 

I  was  busily  employed  all  day,  and  gave  satisfaction.  But 
I  had  my  nights  to  myself.  I  congratulated  myself  on  this 
fact,  but  in  reality  it  was  my  great  misfortune.  Had  I  been 
compelled  to  toil  at  night,  I  would  doubtless  have  felt  more 
tired ;  but  I  would  doubtless  have  been  more  temperate,  and 
equally  as  happy. 

Working  men  and  women  need  little  care  and  compassion 
while  "on  duty ;"  but  they  need  the  former,  and  call  oftentimes 
for  the  latter,  when  "  off  duty."  When  the  eye  of  the  super- 
intendent or  employer  is  upon  them,  they  are  "all  right:"  it 
is  only  when  there  is  none  to  see  them  but  the  All-seeing  that 
they  are  in  danger  of  being  "  all  wrong." 

Especially  is  this  the  case  in  the  metropolis.  Other  cities  rest 
at  night,  and  the  working-classes  rest  in  and  with  them.  But 
New  York  is  as  restless  by  night  as  by  day.  New  York  never 
sleeps :  it  has  been  truthfully  styled  "  the  sleepless  city." 

It  has  been  calculated  that  over  seventy-five  thousand  people 
are  busy  or  bustling,  at  work  or  at  play,  every  night  in  the 
great  metropolis.  The  night-population  of  New  York  includes 
an  army  of  men  and  women,  in  different  walks  of  life,  —  the 
attaches  of  theatres  and  minstrel-halls,  of  concert-saloons,  of 
the  newspapers,  of  the  restaurants,  etc.,  the  hackmen,  the 
car  conductors  and  drivers,  the  police,  the  thieves,  the  gam- 
blers, the  courtesans,  the  firemen,  the  bill-posters,  the  butchers, 
the  bakers,  the  vagrants,  the  hotel  attachSs,  —  these,  and  other 
classes  too  numerous  to  mention,  render  the  streets  of  New 
York,  or  some  of  them  at  least,  almost  as  lively  at  midnight 
as  at  noon.  One  need  never  be  lonely  in  New  York  at  night 
if  he  is  not  particular  as  to  his  company.  And  the  temptations 
to  dissipation  and  intemperance  in  a  crowd  like  this  at  night 


"  ON  THE  DOWN  GliADE."  205 

are  endless.  And  they  were  too  mighty  for  one  of  my  tem- 
perament to  resist.  Homeless,  I  haunted  the  taverns  and  the 
theatres:  friendless,  I  made  companions  of  the  dissolute.  I 
soon  fell  into  my  former  drinking-habits,  and  acquired,  if  possi- 
ble, the  curse  of  intemperance  still  stronger.  Many  a  morning, 
after  many  a  night  passed  in  bar-rooms  till  almost  daylight,  I 
would  go  to  my  work  with  a  fevered  brow  and  a  trembling 
hand.  But  still,  under  all  these  disadvantages,  I  somehow  kept 
along.  For  a  whole  year  I  kept  my  situation ;  and  during  that 
time  I  familiarized  myself  with  the  haunts  of  vice  and  intem- 
perance, and  was  falling  lower  and  lower  in  the  scale  of  hu- 
manity. I  became  entangled  in  several  "  scrapes ; "  and  although 
I  was  never  arrested  by  the  police,  never  imprisoned  in  a 
police-station  cell,  and  never  brought  before  a  magistrate  in 
a  police-court,  it  was  due  to  the  restraining  hand  of  Providence, 
not  to  any  restraint  that  I  placed  upon  myself.  Tliis  period  I 
regard  as  one  of  the  darkest  of  my  life.  And,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  demon  of  rum,  I  committed  indiscretions,  which, 
when  reported  to  my  father  in  the  course  of  time,  nearly  drove 
him  to  distraction,  and  which  distressed  my  dear  mother  more 
than  all  her  pangs  of  sickness.  Friends  remonstrated  with  me 
in  vain.     I  was  mad  indeed. 

Finally  I  lost  my  position  on  the  railroad,  but  that  did  not 
sober  me ;  for  I  obtained  an  even  better  situation  in  its  place 
with  H.  B.  ClafBin  &  Co.,  in  the  entry-room,  under  Mr. 
Henshaw  as  superintendent:  and  I  drank  harder  than  ever. 

But  I  only  held  this  latter  situation  for  a  month :  then  rum, 
my  greatest  enemy,  dislodged  me ;  and  again  I  was  roaming 
the  streets  of  New  York  without  employment. 

I  was  not  utterly  destitute  as  yet;  and,  as  long  as  my  money 
lasted,  I  haunted  bar-rooms,  and  drank  rum.  Liquor-saloons 
were  my  only  resorts :  and  I  finally  sank  so  low,  that,  under 
the  influence  of  my  potations,  I  would  frequently  sleep  in  these 


206  A  DEVILISH  DEDAUCn. 

places  till  they  closed,  and  then  would  walk  the  streets  by  night, 
trying  to  quiet  my  nerves  (for  sleep  I  could  not),  until  they 
opened  again. 

I  recall  to  memory  one  night  in  particular,  when,  after  a 
devilish  debauch  (I  can  use  no  milder  term),  the  thought  of  my 
once  innocent  past,  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters,  my  honored 
father  and  mother,  and  my  pure  and  happy  home,  in  dear  old 
Montreal,  came  across  my  mind  with  such  overpowering  force, 
that,  in  sheer  despair  and  desperation,  I  purchased  a  soda- 
Ijottle  full  of  whiskey,  and,  rushing  out  of  a  saloon,  took  my 
position  at  midnight  on  the  steps  of  618  Broadway,  —  the 
Museum  of  Anatomy,  —  and  swallowed  almost  the  entire  con- 
tents of  the  bottle. 

I  was  wild  with  grief  and  shame,  and  I  knew  not  what  I  did. 
I  presume  I  meant  to  take  my  chances  of  death  or  delirium 
tremens ;  and  I  deserved  either,  or  both,  but  escaped  :  perhaps 
the  very  quantity  of  liquor  that  I  swallowed  saved  me ;  but, 
however  that  may  be,  I  merely  suffered  more  than  usual,  and 
was  more  sick  and  nervous  than  usual  for  some  fort3'-eight 
hours,  and  then  proceeded  downward  as  before.  And  here  I 
must  pause,  and  warn  my  readers  of  the  terrible  state  to 
which  poor  mortals  may  bring  themselves.  With  tears  in  my 
eyes  I  make  this  confession.  But  my  case  is  not  exceptional. 
Thousands  have  been  in  the  same  condition,  and  only  those 
that  have  suffered  can  appreciate  the  same.  I  wish  I  could 
show  to  every  young  man  and  woman  in  the  coiuitry  what 
intemperance  is  sure  to  lead  to.  Reformation  is  hard  —  oh,  so 
hard !  Intemperance  destroys  self-respect ;  and,  when  that  is 
gone,  manhood  departs.  It  dries  up  the  sacred  fountains  of 
love ;  and,  when  they  are  dry,  hope  turns  sadly  away.  It 
estranges  those  who  should  be  dearest  to  each  other.  It  turns 
the  father  from  the  child,  and  the  child  from  the  father ;  and 
all  that  is  contained  in  the  word  "awful"  it  surely  possesses. 


THE  MONSTER  INTEMPERANCE.  207 

I  have  seen  the  ocean  asleep,  vvlien  scarcely  a  ripple  disturbed 
its  placid  breast.  The  smallest  craft  could  venture  out  on  its 
tranquil  bosom  in  safety,  and  the  sunbeams  dallied  witli  its 
sui'face,  and  peace  and  contentment  seemed  to  have  an  abiding- 
place  within.it.  Anon  the  winds  would  rise,  the  hurricane 
would  rage,  and  the  scene  would  be  changed.  Arising  from 
its  lethargy,  the  mad  waves  would  roll,  threatening  to  over- 
whelm every  thing  in  their  fury ;  and  night  and  darkness  would 
combine  to  augment  the  horrors  of  the  scene.  Intemperance 
is  like  that  ocean  :  it  seems  fair  and  lovely  to  gaze  upon ;  and 
the  poor  mariner  upon  its  bosom  looks  listlessly  in  the  tide,  nor 
sees  the  frightful  monsters  that  inhabit  it.  But  now  they 
come,  slimy,  filthy  creatures,  who  wind  themselves  around  his 
better  feelings ;  and  the  fierce  storms  of  passion,  lust,  and  all 
that  is  unholy  and  debased,  sweep  him  from  mortal  view.  The 
fell  demon  spares  none.  He  allures  the  noblest  of  the  earth, 
and  beneath  him  they  become  the  most  debased.  No  position 
in  society  is  secure  from  his  attacks.  He  even  invades  the 
sanctity  of  the  pulpit,  and  the  priest  of  God  becomes  his  satel- 
lite. He  glories  in  destruction,  and  gloats  over  the  shrieks  of 
his  helpless  victims.  O  young  men  !  if  you  are  yielding  to  the 
power  of  the  monster  in  any  degree,  repel  him  before  it  is  too 
late.  "  Look  not  thou  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it 
giveth  its  color  in  the  cup :  at  the  last,  it  biteth  like  a  serpent, 
and  stingeth  like  an  adder."  Point  me  to  a  case  where,  used 
as  a  beverage,  it  ever  did  mortal  man  any  good.  Graves  that 
have  been  watered  with  burning,  bitter  tears,  proclaim  the  con- 
trary ;  families  severed  speak  its  desolation ;  the  groans  of 
orphans  and  the  shrieks  of  the  dying,  over  the  land,  bear  fear- 
ful testimony  to  its  destruction ;  and  yet  the  curse  survives,  and 
human  law  appears  powerless  to  crush  it  from  existence.  Were 
a  mad  dog  turned  loose  in  our  street  to  bite  and  maim  the 
passers-by,  what  a  cry  would  ascend  to  the  skies  if  prompt 


208  TO  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  CROSS. 

action  were  not  taken  to  stop  liis  ravages !  Yet,  worse  than 
the  most  rabid  canine,  intemperance  is  allowed  to  strike  his 
victims  again  and  again,  and  almost  withont  hinderance.  I 
have  felt  his  deadly  fangs,  and  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to  lift 
up  my  voice  against  him,  to  combat  my  greatest  enemy  with 
all  my  power,  and  to  show  him  and  his  emissaries  as  the 
greatest  enemies  of  the  hnman  race.  Had  I  then  gone  to  the 
foot  of  the  cross  in  faith,  and  trusted  in  Him  who  alone  can 
sustain  us,  I  might  have  been  spared  the  years  to  come  of 
Borrow  that  passed  over  me ;  and  not  until  I  did  so  did  I  find 
deliverance  from  my  bondage :  but,  thanks  be  to  Him,  my 
deliverance  came ;  and  I  am  now  ransomed  by  his  precious 
blood  from  the  galling  shackles  of  intemperance.  All  things 
are  possible  with  God. 

"  Would  you  lose  your  life,  you  find  it ; 
And  in  giving  love  you  bind  it 
Like  an  amulet  of  safety 
Round  your  heart  forevermore." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DKIFTIWO  AND  SniFTINO.  —  A  MKMOKADLE  8UNDAT.  —  MT  ADVEWTUnES  IW 
CINCINNATI.  —  LIFE  ON  THE  KIVEU-9TKAMDOAT8.  —  ITS  TIIAOEDY  AND 
COMEDY  ILLUSTBATEI). —STEAMBOAT  HACKS,  FIRES,  AND  EXPLOSIONS.— 
BIVKR-QAMIII.ERR.  —  MOCK  COURTS  AND  A  BLESSED  PBACTICAL  JOKE.  — 
UY  CURSE  CONQUERS  MB  AGAIN. 

In  my  last  chapter  I  moralized  somewhat ;  now  let  me  turn 
to  my  OAvn  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  and  speak  of  myself.  Being 
almost  literally  driven  out  of  New  York  by  my  own  misconduct, 
finding  it  now  impossible  to  procure  a  situation,  and  being  on 
the  very  verge  of  abject  destitution  and  positive  starvation,  I 
turned  my  thoughts  to  Albany,  where  I  had  been  told  there 
was  a  chance  for  employment.  Through  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Canlfield,  a  steamboat-man,  agent  of  a  line  of  steamers  plying 
on  the  Hudson,  I  obtained  a  pass  to  Albany,  in  which  city  I 
landed  literally  penniless. 

My  first  experience  of  New  York  had  been  brief  and  shame- 
ful. I  left  it  now,  as  I  thought,  forever;  but  I  was  destined  ta 
return  to  the  great  metropolis  again,  and  yet  again,  as  the 
reader  of  this  life-narrative  will  see. 

I  found  Albany  just  like  New  York  in  one  most  important 
particular.  You  must  have  money,  or  starve,  in  either  place. 
As  I  had  no  money,  I  came  near  starving,  and  might  have  per- 
ished, had  I  not  been  in  this  extremity  befriended  by  S.  R. 
Gray,  a  true  Christian  gentleman,  who  interested  himself  prac- 
tically in  my  welfare.  But  there  was  no  opening  for  me  in 
Albany  at  that  time ;  and  so  I  went  on  still  farther,  looking  for 

DM 


210  A   TRAMP  AND  A  UEaClAR. 

Bonu'tliiug  to  do.  I  called  upon  E.  D.  WorccHter,  Esq.,  tlio 
Bccictary  of  the  New- York  Cuntnil  liuilroud,  and,  on  the  rec- 
omnu-ndiitiou  of  Mr.  (iniy,  ohtuincd  from  tins  most  practical, 
yet  kind  and  most  genial  and  polished  nuin,  otriciul,  and  gentle- 
man, a  pass  to  Butlalo.  I  arrived  in  Ikiflalo  in  precisely  tliu 
Hame  pennilcsM  condition  in  which  I  had  reached  Albany,  but 
found  no  duplicate  of  the  great-hearted  Mr.  (Jray.  Having 
neither  money  nor  friends,  only  a  little  —  a  very  little  —  "  hand- 
baggage,"  I  was  at  once  compelled  to  pawn  the  latter,  to  procure 
a  few  days'  board. 

I  spent  my  few  days  trying  hard  to  obtain  employment,  but 
in  vain,  and,  at  the  expiration  of  a  week,  found  myself 
reduced  to  my  last  dollar,  —  poorer  tiian  I  was  when  I  came  to 
Buffalo,  by  the  amount  of  the  value  of  my  little  hand-baggnge, 
now  unredeemed  at  the  p  wn-sliop.  I  was  not  only  desperately 
poor  and  "  hard  up,"  but  I  began  to  suffer  from  the  cold.  I 
was  thinly  clad,  and  had  no  change  of  raiment  with  me ;  my 
clothing,  such  as  it  was,  being  all  at  that  "  interesting "  rela- 
tive's, "my  uncle's."  But  I  must  keep  moving.  If  I  could 
not  find  work  at  Albany  or  at  Buffalo,  I  must  push  on  farther 
West,  and  try  Cleveland.  So  I  begged  a  pass,  on  the  strength 
of  my  former  connection  with  railroads,  from  Otis  Kimbiill, 
Esq.,  and  one  cold,  dreary  Saturday  night  first  set  foot  in 
■Cleveland.  I  am  told  that  Cleveland  is  a  very  pretty  city. 
Its  citizens  are  justly  proud  thereof.  But  God  knows  I  was 
in  no  mood  in  my  visit  to  the  place  to  appreciate  its  beau- 
ties. I  was  reduced  to  the  mere  animal,  the  wholly  brutal, 
.condition,  of  needing  only  just  then,  and  caring  only  just  then, 
for  food,  warmth,  and  drink,  and  of  not  being  able  to  obtain 
jiny  one  of  the  three. 

I  reached  Cleveland  a  pauper;  and  I  resided  in  it  (Heaven 
pardon  the  mockery  of  the  use  of  that  word  "resided")  for 
iiearly  forty-eight  hours, — two  nights  and  nearly  two  days,— 


8UCU  A   SUNDAY!  211 

a  tminp  and  a  beggar.  Yes,  through  folly  ami  niiu  I  had 
reached  thoHo  two  extrcniitieH  ut  hiHt.  I  waH  a  hoiuulusH  tramp, 
a  peiuiilesH  beggar ;  Hloeping,  whon  I  Hlept  at  all,  in  shedB  or 
out-hou8crt,  shivering  in  my  Hcanty  soodiiiesH,  gnawing  away  for 
life  at  stray  crusts,  "at  the  very  husks  the  svvine  did  eat,"  — 
those  husks  which  were  for  a  while  the  envy  of  the  prodigal 
son  in  the  parable,  wiiom,  in  not  a  few  respects,  I  closely 
resembled,  although  even  yet  I  had  not  attained  unto  his  peni- 
tence. I  was  wretched,  of  course.  I  grieved  over  my  condi- 
tion. But  mere  grief  and  wretchedness  do  not  constitute  true 
penitence.  I  was  in  no  sense  of  the  term  repentant.  I  was 
only  reckless,  desperate,  despairing,  only  a  tramp  and  a  beggar, 
whom  only  the  mercy  of  the  Most  High  kept  from  being  a 
criminal  and  a  thief. 

Of  all  the  Sundays  in  my  life,  I  shall  never  forget  that 
wretched,  homeless,  churchless,  friendless,  shelterless,  joylossi, 
prayerless,  dreary,  weary,  hungry,  thirsty,  cold  Sunday  which 
I  passed  in  Cleveland.  It  was  a  living  death.  Towards  noon 
I  was  constrained  to  beg  in  the  public  streets  for  a  few  pennies 
to  buy  a  meal,  —  my  first  meal  for  nearly  thirty -six  hours; 
and  at  night  I  begged  a  shelter  from  the  storm,  —  slept  by  per- 
mission in  a  hall-way.  Great  God !  what  a  Lord's  Da}*  that 
was !  How  terribly  it  contrasted  with  my  sweet  home  Sun- 
days in  dear  Montreal !  It  is  a  wonder  and  a  mercy  that  I  did 
not  go  mad,  —  memory  mad. 

It  is  more  than  a  wonder,  too,  that  such  a  fearful  experience 
as  this,  brought  on  directly  by  my  cursed  appetite  for  liiiuor, 
did  not  lead  me  at  once,  then  and  there,  to  determine  to  forsake 
rum,  and  to  sunder  myself  forever  from  the  cause  of  my  misery. 
But  no  such  blessed  result  took  place ;  and  I  was  not  only 
in  reality  a  tramp  and  a  beggar,  but  at  heart,  as  before,  a 
drunkard.  I  would  have  been  a  drunkard  if  I  had  had  the 
chance. 


i.' 


212  A   MODERN   WANDERING  JEW. 

Monday  morning  dawned  bright  and  beautiful  and  balmy, 
after  the  most  horribh  Sunday  I  had  ever  experienced;  and, 
utterly  disgusted  with  Cleveland,  I  braced  myself  up,  tried 
to  assume  a  jaunty  air,  tried  to  forget  I  was  a  tramp  and  a 
beggar,  and,  applying  at  the  railroad-depot  as  an  ex-railroad- 
man, secured  from  the  officials  there  a  pass  to  Columbus,  0. 

Arriving  at  this  thriving  place  about  midnight,  I  slept  in  the 
cars  till  morning,  and  then  made  som^.  inquiries  for  work. 
Finding  no  immediate  opportunity  in  Columbus,  and  having  no 
time  to  wait,  being  full  of  a  bitter  restlessness  which  drove  me 
on,  like  the  wandering  Jew,  knowing  and  caring  not  whither,  I 
applied  to  Mr.  Doherty,  then  the  depot-agent,  and  procured, 
tlirough  his  kindness,  a  pass  to  Cincinnati,  where  I  arrived 
•with  precisely  five  cents  in  my  pocket,  the  remnants  of  forty- 
five  cents  I  had  begged, —  my  worldly  all. 

True,  on  no  larger  a  capital  than  this,  men  have  raised  them- 
selves to  influence  and  affluence.  But  then,  these  men  were 
not  habitual  drunkards. 

I  was  now  in  Cincinnati,  —  the  Queen  City  of  the  West,  as 
it  is  called ;  the  Paris  of  America,  as  it  has  been  also  styled ; 
the  leading  city  of  the  great  State  of  Ohio,  one  of  the  leading 
communities  of  the  world. 

Tliere  is  much  in  Cincinnati  to  interest  the  thoughtful, 
and  to  impress  favorably  the  travelled  observer.  There  is  a 
mingled  air  of  enterprise  and  stability  pervading  the  city,  which 
strikes  one  forcibly.  Every  thing  seems  established  on  a  solid 
basis,  yet  all  is  bustle  and  energy.  But  there  is  no  "flash  in 
the  pan  "  business,  no  mere  wild,  feverish,  unsubstantial  specu- 
lation :  every  thing  is  a  reality,  like  the  pork  itself. 

The  streets  of  Cincinnati  are  well  laid  out,  the  public 
buildings  are  imposing,  the  hotels  are  excellent ;  and  it  pos- 
sesses one  peculiar  charm  and  beauty  which  can  be  claimed  by 
no  other  city  in  America,  — those  hills,  or  mountains,  or  elevated 


CINCINNATI.  213 

lands,  known  as  the  Highlands,  and  Mount  Lookout,  which 
rise  from  and  command  the  city.  The  pt  "liar  vertical  rail- 
ways by  which  these  mountains  are  traversed  are  among  the 
curiosities  of  the  West. 

Cincinnati  is  justly  proud  of  its  superb  music-hall  —  the  finest 
in  the  country  —  and  of  its  musical  societies,  —  the  largest  and 
best  conducted  in  the  West.  True,  it  has  its  darker  aspects, 
—  its  "over  the  Rhine,"  and  its  Sunday  theatres;  but,  as  a 
whole,  Ohio  can  well  afford  to  boast  of  Cincinnati. 

And  perhaps  of  all  places  in  Cincii  nati  the  most  really  in- 
teresting to  the  greatest  number  is  the  river-front.  There  is 
always  a  fascination  about  the  water  and  the  water-ways. 
Even  a  brook  suggests  a  river ;  and  the  river  still  more  elo- 
quently suggests  the  sea,  while  the  sea  itself  suggests  infinity 
and  the  universe.  Then,  there  is  an  abundance  of  life  and 
motion  and  change  upon  the  surface  of  a  river :  boats  and 
passengers  are  constantly  adding  animation  to  the  scene.  Al- 
together, the  Ohio  River  forms  the  most  interesting  portion  of 
Cincinnati ;  and  to  the  river  1  now  turned  in  my  need  to  look 
for  work. 

I  was  not  as  completely  wretched  and  destitute  here  in  Cin- 
cinnati as  I  had  been  in  Cleveland.  I  had  stumbled  across 
an  old  acquaintance,  employed  at  the  United-States  Hotel, 
Cincinnati ;  and  through  his  kindness  1  had  at  least  a  place  to 
sleep  for  a  while.  I  need  not  walk  the  streets  all  night,  nor 
sleep  and  shiver  on  the  pavement;  and  that  was  something. 
But  all  day  long  I  hunted  —  ay,  absolutely  hunted  —  for  work, 
trudging  up  and  down  the  levee,  tramping  from  boat  to  boat, 
seeking  a  job,  —  seeking  but  not  finding;  tho  "h,  like  Esau, 
"  I  sought  carefully  and  with  tears." 

Nothing  presented  itself.  No  opportunity  "  turned  up."  I 
became  discouraged ;  and  finally  through  very  shame  I  would 
not  return  to  my  kind  friend  at  the  hotel,  but  determined  to 


214  A  SCULLION. 

stay  around  the  levee  day  and  night  till  I  had  obtained  a  job. 
Tiiere  was  a  good  deal  of  "  stuff"  in  this  determination,  and  I 
feel  glad  now  that  I  made  it  and  kept  it  then.  It  showed  to  my- 
self, that,  spite  of  my  fall  from  grace  and  good,  I  was  not  wholly 
lost.    I  was  not  utterly  debased,  and  I  had  ray  reward. 

By  dint  of  repeated,  persistent,  urgent  solicitation  on  my 
part,  of  the  steward  of  one  of  the  transient  boats  from  Cin- 
cinnati to  Louisville,  I  obtained  from  him  a  job  at  last. 

True,  it  was  not  a  very  responsible  position,  —  it  did  not 
require  any  great  physical  or  mental  strength,  —  it  was  only 
the  post  of  dish-washer  and  knife-cleaner ;  but  it  was  some- 
thing, —  it  was  better  than  nothing,  —  it  was  a  job. 

As  such  I  gratefully  regarded  it ;  and  perhaps  my  fallen  con- 
dition at  this  period  cannot  be  illustrated  more  forcibly  th;  :i 
by  the  fact  that  I,  who  had  formerly  occupied  positions  of  some 
little  lesponsibility  in  railroad  offices  and  stores,  now  con- 
gratulated myself  on  securing  the  position  of  a  scullion. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  while.  Within  forty-eight  hours  after 
commencing  my  menial  duties,  "  the  iron  entered  into  my 
soul."  I  saw  myself  as  others  saw  me,  —  literally  "  a  hewer  of 
wood  and  a  drawer  of  water ;  "  and  I  realized  at  last  to  what 
rum  had  brought  me. 

Still,  —  and  this  fact  I  record  now  with  satisfaction,  —  I  did 
not  give  up  my  place  because  disgusted  with  myself.  No :  I 
remained  a  scullion,  and  tried  to  discharge  my  menial  duties; 
but  as  a  servant  I  was  not  a  success,  and  soon  there  was  an- 
other scullion  in  my  stead. 

But  by  this  time  I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  river- 
captain,  Capt.  Daniel  Conway  of  the  steamer  "  Alice  Dean," 
to  whom  I  had  imparted  the  outlines  of  my  history,  and  who 
conceived  a  sincere  liking  for  me.  Capt.  Conway's  vessel  was 
being  put  in  running  order  for  the  season  of  navigation,  and 
the  kind  captain  promised  me  employment  on  his  boat  as  soou 


'       A   STEAMER-CLERK.  215 

as  it  commenced  its  regular  trips.  He  also  kindly  suggested 
to  me  that  I  could  take  up  my  quarters  on  the  boat  at  once ; 
that  is,  I  could  sleep  on  board  of  it  at  nights.  I  eagerly  availed 
myself  of  this  permission,  and  now  began  a  new  and  peculiar 
era  of  my  ever-changing  life. 

Every  night  I  enjoyed  to  the  fullest  extent  my  roomy  quar- 
ters on  the  steamer,  which  at  that  time  I  had  almost  to  my- 
self. And  all  day  I  did  nothing  but  wait,  and  look  at  the  men 
getting  the  vessel  ready,  occasionally  taking  a  hand  myself 
for  sheer  lack  of  any  thing  else  to  do,  and  to  oblige  my  kind 
friend,  the  captain.  The  balance  of  my  time  I  "  loafed,"  talked 
with  the  deck-hands,  or  the  laborers  on  the  levee,  smob  d  when 
anybody  offered  me  a  cigar,  hung  around  bar-rooms  for  "  the 
free  lunches,"  for  which  the  West  is  famous,  and,  alas !  took 
every  opportunity  to  drink, — .and  my  opportunities  were  only 
too  many.  There  are,  unfortunately,  always  chances  to  get  a 
drink.  I  had  also  availed  myself  of  my  abundant  leisure  to 
write  a  letter  to  my  brother  V/illiam,  who  answered  it  lovingly, 
and  sent  in  his  letter  a  small  sura  of  money  for  my  immediate 
wants,  a  large  portion  of  which  small  sum  went  at  once  to 
supply  my  then  most  pressing  want,  —  liquor.  Finall}',  "The 
Alice  Dean"  being  ready,  I  was,  according  to  promise,  in- 
stalled as  steamer-clerk,  at  a  fair  rate  of  compensatiuu.  And 
now  began  my  experiences  of  life  upon  a  Western  river-steam- 
boat. Before  the  great  civil  war,  life  on  an  Ohio  or  a  Missis- 
sippi-river steamboat  was  a  very  different  and  more  exciting 
existence  than  it  has  ever  been  since,  or  will  ever  be  likely  to 
be  again :  still,  even  in  my  time,  it  was  bustling  and  exciting 
enough.  It  brought  one  into  contact  with  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men,  and,  especially  to  the  young  and  impressiona- 
ble, was  ceaselessly  and  vividly  interesting. 

Each  trip  of  each  steamboat  up  or  down  the  river  was  a  story 
in  itself.    Then  there  was  the  racing  with  rival  boats.    Then 


216  THE  EXPLOSION  OF  "  THE  MOSELLE." 

there  were  the  peculiarities  of  the  passengers,  the  chariicteris- 
tics  of  the  captain  and  the  pilot,  the  eccentricities  of  the  crew. 

Volumes  could  be  written  —  books  have  beeu  written,  I 
believe  —  on  Western  steamboat-life ;  ijind  stories  of  steamboat 
adventure  have  from  time  to  time  appeared  in  magazines  and 
newspapers.  Thrilling  descriptions  of  steamboat-races  have 
been  published, — terrific,  because  terrifically  true,  narratives 
of  horrible  steamboat  explosions.  Instances  have  been  known 
in  which  the  cargo  itself  of  a  vessel  h^s  been  used  as  fuel  in 
a  life  or  death  race.  The  old  story  of  a  negro  fastened  to  the 
safety-valve  to  keep  it  down  during  a  race  is  literally  true. 
Boats  have  time  and  time  again  caught  fire  while  madly  ra- 
cing, and  been,  with  cargo,  crew,  and  passengers,  consumed. 

Steamboat  explosions  were  of  constant  occurrence.  One  of 
the  most  fearful  was  the  explosion  of  the  steamboat  "  Moselle  " 
near  Cincinnati.  "  The  Moselle "  was  a  splendid  new  boat, 
sailing  between  Cincinnati  and  St.  Louis,  and  was  "a  crack 
boat,"  a  "  fast "  boat,  —  one  of  the  very  "  fastest "  on  the  river. 

One  pleasant  afternoon,  just  as  "  The  Moselle  "  was  leaving 
Cincinnati  with  an  unusual  number  of  passengers,  the  catas- 
trophe occurred.  The  vessel  had  been  delayed  some  fifteen 
minutes  to  accommodate  the  rush  of  passengers,  and  was  now 
starting,  under  a  tremendous  force  of  steam,  to  overtake  an 
opposition  boat  that  had  left  Cincinnati  "on  time,"  and  there- 
fore with  some  quarter  of  an  hour's  start  of  "The  Moselle." 

Just  as  the  bow  of  the  boat  was  shoved  from  shore,  an  explo- 
sion took  place,  by  which  the  whole  fore  part  of  tlie  vessel  was 
blown  up,  and  torn  into  fragments.  All  the  boikrs,  four  in 
number,  burst  at  once.  The  power  of  the  explosion  was  un- 
precedented in  the  history  of  steam.  Its  effect  was  like  that 
of  a  mine  of  powder,  or  of  dynamite. 

The  deck  was  blown  into  the  air,  and  all  on  it  were  hurled 
into  eternity.    Fragments  of  boilers  and  of  bodies  were  thrown 


THE  WRECK  OF  *'  THE  TENNESSEE."  217 

upon  both  the  Kentucky  and  the  Ohio  shores.  One  unfortu- 
nate was  hurled  with  such  force,  that  his  head,  with  one-half  of 
his  body  attached  thereto,  penetrated  the  roof  of  a  house  over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  distant  from  the  vessel.  A  few 
in  the  rear  of  the  boat  dashed  into  the  water,  and  swam  ashore, 
or  were  rescued  by  boats ;  but  the  majority  of  the  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty  human  beings  on  board  were  eitlier  drowned, 
scalded,  or  mangled.  The  actual  number  of  lives  lost  in  this 
one  explosion  exceeded  one  hundred  and  fifty  ;  and  all  because 
the  captain,  encouraged  by  his  passengers,  had  determined  to 
overtake  and  pass  an  "opposition  boat." 

The  scenery  of  the  Mississippi  River  has  neither  beauty  nor 
sublimity  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  words,  but  it  possesses 
the  solemn  characteristic  of  "  vastness "  to  a  grander  and 
gloomier  degree  than  any  river  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

The  navigation  of  the  river  is  very  dangerous,  alike  from  the 
instability  of  its  banks,  the  impetuosity  of  its  currents,  and  the 
obstacles  in  the  river,  —  the  snags,  planters,  or  sawyers,  as  they 
are  called.  Collision  with  these  is  certain  destruction  to  a 
steamboat,  yet  such  collisions  are  of  frequent  occurrence. 

The  steamboat  "Tennessee,"  one  dark  and  sultry  night, 
struck  a  snag  just  above  Natchez.  She  filled  with  water  rap- 
idly, and  all  was  consternation  and  despair.  Then  came  out 
some  of  the  meannesses  of  human  nature.  One  wretch  of  a 
passenger  seized  a  skiff,  and  paddled  round  the  sinking  steamer, 
calling  out  to  those  on  board  to  throw  him  a  bag,  which  con- 
tained his  money.  The  wretch  might  have  saved,  with  his 
skiff,  a  dozen  or  more  passengers  ;  but  he  kept  aloof,  and  only 
clamored  (and,  of  course,  vainly)  for  his  money. 

But,  thank  God  I  some  of  the  glorious  qualities  of  human 
nature  also  came  to  the  front  in  this  dark  hour.  A  yawl  was 
finally  launnhed ;  and  in  it  there  was  a  place  kept  for  the  engi- 
neer of  "The  Tennessee,"  a  young  man  very  popular  alike  with 


218  THE  BURNING  OF  "  THE  BEN  SnEBROD." 

crew  and  passengers.  But  the  engineer  refused  to  leave  the 
steamboat.  "Who  will  work  my  engine  if  I  quit?"  he  said. 
*'  I  must  stay  here,  and  do  my  duty."  And  he  staid  on  boaril, 
at  his  boiler,  and  did  his  duty  till  he  died.  They  tried  in 
vain  to  run  the  vessel  on  a  bar,  but  she  sank  in  mid-stream ; 
and  the  heroic  young  tjngiueer  was  drowned  in  his  own 
engine-room. 

The  officer  of  "  The  Prairie  Belle,"  who,  in  the  poem,  kept  his 
place  through  fire  and  smoke  "  till  the  last  galoot  was  ashore," 
was  a  fancy  founded  on  a  fact.  Let  us  thank  God  for  such 
facts  as  tlicse. 

"  Hard  drinking  "  among  the  crew,  the  passengers,  and  the 
officers  of  the  steamboats,  used  to  be  the  rule,  the  i)revailing 
custom,  on  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  Rivers.  And  several  of 
the  most  terrible  river-catastrophes  occurred  directly  from  the 
carelessness  and  recklessness  produced  by  intemperance.  The 
burning  of  the  steamer  "  Ben  Sherrod "  was  a  case  in  point. 
One  fine  evening  in  May  "The  Ben  Sherrod,"  one  of  the  finest 
and  fastest  steamers  on  the  Mississippi,  was  trying  to  get  to 
Natchez  ahead  of  the  steamer  "  Prairie."  Steam  was  kept  at 
the  highest  pressure  all  night,  and  the  energies  of  the  firemen 
and  crew  were  taxed  to  the  utmost.  In  order  to  encourage 
the  deck-hands,  a  barrel  of  whiskey  had  been  turned  over  to 
them;  and  they  drank  freely,  —  too  freely,  —  officers  and  men 
alike. 

As  "  The  Sherrod  "  passed  on  above  Fort  Adams,  the  wood 
piled  up  in  front  of  the  furnaces  several  times  caught  fire,  but 
was  each  time  extinguished,  so  it  was  thought.  Had  the  men 
been  sober,  the  fire  would  have  been  altogether  extinguished ; 
as  it  was,  it  smouldered,  only  to  break  out  at  last  furiously. 
Even  then,  had  sobriety  and  its  accompaniments,  sense  and 
order,  prevailed,  all  might  have  been  well ;  but,  with  a  drunken 
crew,  what  could  be  expected  but  what  took  place,  —  a  scene  of 


THE  mrEIi-GAMBLER.  219 

unutterable  liorror?  Two  luindred  precious  humau  lives  were 
lost  by  carelessness  and  whiskey. 

But  the  dangers  on  the  river-boats  were  not  confined  to 
fires,  explosions,  snags,  races,  or  collisions.  There  was  a  human 
danger  on  board  the  boats  as  formidable  as  any  material  terror. 
I  mean  the  river-gambler. 

Day  and  night,  during  the  voyage,  the  card-tables  on  the 
vessels  were  surrounded  by  the  votaries  of  chance :  sometimes 
six  and  seven  tables  could  be  seen  scattered  along  the  deck, 
from  the  ladies'  cabin  to  the  social  hall,  or  parlor,  of  the  boat,  a 
game  in  progress  at  each  table. 

The  games  which  were  played  mostly  on  the  river  steamers 
were  poker,  brifg,  whist,  Boston,  and  old  sledge.  Si/metimes 
regular  " banking-games," so  called,  were  "set  up"  in  the  "social 
hall,"  or  parlor,  such  as  vingt-et-un  or  faro.  According  to  the 
printed  rules  of  these  steamers,  all  gambling  was  prohibited 
after  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  but  these  rules  were  seen  only 
in  print,  not  in  practice :  and  the  morning  sun  dawning  on  the 
Mississippi  rose  on  many  an  all-night  card-party.  The  steamboat 
officers  mingled  with  the  passengers  in  these  games,  and  the  crew 
mingled  with  the  officers.  Gambling  is  a  great  leveller ;  and 
pilots,  deck-hands,  and  millionnaires  used  to  play  cards  together. 

Life  on  a  Western  river-steamer  in  one  respect  resembled 
closely  life  in  the  great  metropolis.  It  was  full  of  contrasts. 
At  one  and  the  same  moment  four  separate  and  totally  opposed 
scenes  have  been  taking  place  on  the  one  steamboat-deck.  In 
the  ladies'  cabin  a  group  of  pious  men  and  women  were  engaged 
in  prayer ;  in  the  dining-saloon,  from  which  the  tables  had  been 
removed,  a  party  of  young  people  were  dancing  merrily  to  the 
sound  of  the  fiddle ;  in  the  "  social  hall "  a  game  of  faro  was 
being  played,  amid  the  rattle  of  money  and  checks;  while 
beyond  was  a  group  of  carousers,  getting  drunk  at  the  gor- 
geous "bar."  — 


220  I  REFUSE  A   riiOPOSITION. 

The  river-gamblers,  or  professicmal  slmrpers,  wlio  infested 
the  boats,  travelled  in  small  companies,  or  gangs,  but,  while  on 
board  a  steamer,  pretended  to  be  strangers  to  each  other,  the 
better  *  >  avoid  suspicion,  and  the  more  readily  to  fleece  the 
unwary .  Their  number  was  always  sufKcient  to  make  up  a 
card-party  whenever  they  could  induce  two  or  three  "gulls" 
"  to  join  theni  in  a  small  ^ame,  merely  for  amusement,"  as  the 
phrase  was.  All  sorts  of  tricks  were  played  upon  their  victims, 
—  "  stocking  the  cards,"  all  varieties  of  cheating,  trickery,  and 
sleight  of  hand ;  and,  even  when  a  fairly  conducted  game  was 
played,  the  confederates  of  the  sharpers  would  "  look  on  "  as 
spectators,  and  meanwhile  communicate  information,  or  "item- 
ize "  the  cards,  to  their  "  pals  "  by  agreed-upon  signs.  Canes 
were  twirled  in  certain  ways,  cigars  were  puffed  according  to 
a  system,  fingers  were  employed  to  telegraph  the  cards,  etc. 

"Holding  out"  was  a  trick  much  practised  by  sharpers. 
Extra  cards  would  be  secreted  in  laps,  or  behind  necks,  and 
"rung  in  "  or  slipped  into  the  pack  secretly,  as  needed.  Some 
sharpers  also  played  with  marked  cards.  And  in  some  instances 
the  bar-tenders  of  the  boats  were  in  league  with  their  nefarious 
schemes,  and  shared  their  plunder.  This  fact  I  have  most 
positive  means  of  knowing.  For  while  I  was  clerk  on  "The 
Alice  Dean,"  one  of  the  bar-keepers  of  the  boat  being  taken 
sick,  I  acted  in  his  place  for  a  few  hours  one  day,  and,  while 
thus  engaged,  was  approached  by  a  very  gentlemanly-looking 
young  man,  who,  mysteriously  calling  me  aside,  made  a  propo- 
sition to  me  that  I  should  be  his  confederate  in  cheating  the 
passengers  with  marked  cards.  Of  course,  he  did  not  say  all 
this  in  so  many,  or  rather  so  few,  words  as  I  have  said  it ;  but 
this  is  what  his  proposition  amounted  to.  I  listened  patiently, 
and  commanded  my  temper,  till  the  "  skin-gambler,"  or  "  river- 
sharper,"  had  unbosomed  himself  freely,  and  had  handed  me 
his  skilfully  marked  cards.    Then  I  handed  him  over  to  Capt. 


FUN  IN  A   CROWD.  221 

Conwny,  who,  after  cursing  him  and  kicking  him,  put  him  off 
the  vessel  ut  the  next  landing. 

Terrible  scenes  have  been  enacted  on  board  the  river- 
steamboats,  in  which  the  gamblers  and  their  victims  have 
figured  as  murderers  or  murdered.  Me»i,  despoiled  of  all  their 
wealth  at  the  accursed  gaming-table,  have  committed  suicide, 
or  shot  the  cheats  who  robbed  them.  And  in  several  instances 
detected  sharpers  have  been  put  off  the  boats,  and  left  at  unin- 
habited islands  to  perish  slowly  and  horribly. 

But  the  comedy  as  well  as  the  tragedy  of  life  has  been  rep- 
resented on  the  river-boats.  There  is  always  a  good  deal  of 
"  fun "  in  "  a  crowd,"  to  those  who  care  to  study  the  latter, 
and  are  capable  of  appreciating  the  former.  And  some  of  the 
customs  on  the  boats  were  specially  amusing.  To  while  away 
the  time  during  the  voyages,  it  has  been  a  habit  to  establish 
mock  courts  of  justice,  styled  "  Courts  of  Un-Common  Pleas." 
The  mandates  of  these  courts  are  generally  obeyed  with  alac- 
rity ;  but  every  now  and  then  some  contumacious  passenger  is 
found  who  will  not  "  stand  "  a  practical  joke,  and  who,  by  his 
very  "  obstinacy,"  and  "  standing  on  his  dignity,"  causes  more 
fun  than  anybody  else.  There  was  once  a  strolling  actor 
called  "  Tom,"  "  River  Tom,"  who  passed  most  of  his  time  on 
the  boats  going  up  and  down  the  river,  and  who  was  always  in 
demand  as  "  sheriff's  officer  "  in  these  mock  courts.  "  Tom  " 
took  his  role  in  dead  earnest,  and  woe  be  to  the  unlucky  wight 
who  dared  to  resist  the  mandates  of  the  mock  court:  he 
would  be  taught  that  he  was  dealing  with  a  genuine  "sheriffs 
officer,"  at  least.  "  Tom "  was  a  big,  burly  chap,  and  was 
always  ready  for  "a  rough  .and  tumble,"  in  the  way  of  "fun," 
of  course.  He  would  arrest  his  man,  and  bring  him  before 
the  mock  judge  firat,  at  all  hazards,  fight  or  no  fight :  but, 
when  all  was  over,  "  Tom  "  and  his  man  would  take  a  drink 
together ;  or,  if  they  didn't,  it  was  no  fault  of  "  Tom's." 


222  A  COURT  OF  UN-COMMON  PLEAS. 

On  one  ocoasion  *'  a  Court  of  Un-coniinon  Pleas  "  was  turned 
to  beneficial  account,  and  the  best  results  were  acconiplislied 
through  a  little  "fun."  The  steamboat  was  "The  White 
Claud,"  on  her  way  from  St.  Louis  to  Louisville ;  and  a  mock- 
court  had  been  formed.  There  was  a  bogus  judge,  clerk,  prose- 
cuting attorney,  jury,  etc. ;  and  "  Tom  "  was  acting-sheriff.  On 
board  the  boat  was  a  well-to-do  countryman,  who  hud  been 
drinking  heavily.  It  was  resolved  to  try  him  for  intemperance. 
The  man's  name  was  Green,  and  very  "green"  he  was,  —  so 
verdant  and  so  drunk  that  he  took  the  whole  affair  for  earnest, 
and  was  frightened  out  of  his  little  wits.  He  was  brought 
before  "  the  honorable  court "  by  "  Tom,"  who  had  to  support 
the  culprit,  who  shook  with  fear.  He  was  tried,  and  found 
guilty,  and  was  asked  if  he  had  any  thing  to  say  before  the 
sentence  of  the  court  should  be  pronounced  again^^t  him. 

Then,  he  found  his  tongue,  and  stammered  forth,  "Mister 
Judge,"  he  said,  "and  gintlemen  of  the  jury,  I  want  to  say 
this  much  :  I  am  guilty.  I  don't  justify  the  drinkers  of  whis- 
key. I  don't,  though  I  do  drink.  I  drank  too  much  whiskey, 
—  I  know  I  did.  But  I  didn't  feel  well ;  and  I  took  the  whis- 
key to  mal;i'  me  feel  better,  but  it  made  me  feel  worse." 
(Poor  fellow,  he  talked  good  sense  just  then.)  "  I  know  I've 
done  wrong,"  he  continued,  "  very  wrong,  and  I  deserve  pun- 
ishment ;  but  I  beg  and  pray  this  honorable  court  to  have  pity 
on  ray  wife." 

"  Hast  thou  a  wife  ?  "  interrupted  the  judge. 

"  I  have,"  said  the  prisoner. 

«  And  children  also  ?  " 

"No,  not  yet — that  is  —  but  I  expect  to,"  said  the  pris- 
oner solemnly. 

Here  the  court  was  convulsed  with  laughter.  But  the  pris- 
oner proceeded  still  more  solemnly,  "  My  wife  will  become  the 
mother  of  a  fatherless  orphan  if  you  throw  me  overboard.'^ 


A  BLESSED  JOKE.  228 

♦'  Throw  you  ovoiboard !  Who  put  that  into  your  headi 
prisoner?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Thut  imm  said  I  was  to  be  thrown  overboard  if  found 
guilty,"  cried  tlie  prisoner,  pointing  to  "Tom."  "lie  said  that 
I  should  be  punished  by  being  compelled  to  swallow  more 
water  than  I  had  whiskey." 

Here  the  court  and  company  were  convulsed  again.  When 
order  was  restored,  the  case  proceeded.  The  judge  gave  a 
charge  to  the  jury,  full  of  nice,  wonderfully  nice,  points  of  law, 
80  minute  that  not  even  a  Philadeli»hia  lawyer  would  liave 
thought  of  them,  but  leaning  to  mercy's  side  so  far  as  the 
prisoner  was  concerned.  Without  leaving  their  seats,  the  jury 
returned  the  following  verdict:  "  We  find  the  defendant  guilty, 
but  recommend  him  strongly  to  mercy." 

And  then  the  judge  pronounced  the  prisoner  pardoned,  but 
only  on  condition  that  he  would  at  once  sign  a  cast-iron  tem- 
perance pledge.  The  prisoner,  now  completely  sobered,  and 
full  of  gratitude,  at  once  signed  the  pledge. 

Ay,  and  kept  it  faithfully.  He  never  drank  a  drop  of  liquor 
again,  and  lived  happy  and  respected  for  twenty  years  after. 
This  mock-court  joke  had  been  the  most  blessed  reality  of  all 
his  life.  Would  to  Heaven  that  there  could  be  perpetrated 
every  day  just  a  thousand  such  jokes. 

Governor  Cleveland  of  New  York,  in  his  recent  course  in 
pardoning  a  man  who  had  been  brought  to  crime  by  intemper- 
ance, on  the  condition  of  his  pledging  himself  to  drink  no  more, 
has  acted  on  the  idea  suggested  by  this  blessed  "  practical  joke ;" 
and  I  would  that  all  the  rest  of  the  governors  would  follow  his 
example. 

But  to  return  to  myself.  Amid  the  varied  and  exciting 
scenes  of  river-steamboat  life,  I  enjoyed  myself  heartily  for 
some  time,  meanwhile  discharging  my  duties  as  clerk.  But 
soon  my  social  nature,  and  my  popularity  with  the  passengers 


224  DRiFTma  AaAm. 

and  my  fellow-dfiiciiilH,  proved  my  banc ;  nnd  I  took  to  drinking 
at.  the  bar,  of  which  in  a  fuw  wecka  I  becumu  uue  uf  the  best, 
or  worst,  cuHtoinors. 

Drinkinj?  cionstiintly,  I  soon  began  to  neglect  my  duties ;  and, 
although  tlie  ciiptuin  remonstrated  with  me  in  a  friendly  way, 
I  did  not  heed  his  expostulations.  My  curse  was  once  more 
upon  me,  and  overcame  mo  at  the  last.  Tired  of  his  vain 
expostulations,  the  captain  discharged  me  from  his  employ.  I 
reformed  once,  was  taken  back  once,  fell  again,  and  was  then 
discharged  permanently. 

Finally,  again  workless,  hopeless,  and  penniless,  I  drifted  to 
St.  Louis. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

tIFE  IK  8T.  L0XJ18.  —  ONE  OF  THE  MINOR  DIBADVANTAOF.S  OF  DRINKING. — 
TUB  BMKIX  OF  LIQUOR.  —  8KHI0-COMI0  ILLU8TKATI0NH  AND  ANECDOTES. 
—  "A  HOTEL  nilNNEH."  — now  AN  IKIHIIMAN  OUTRAWLED  ME,  AND  HOW 
I  OUTUENEUALLED  UIM.  —  "  A  UAIUtOAD-MAN  "  ONCE  MORE. —MY  FA< 
TUEB'B  UKAVE. 

Arrivtno  in  St.  Louis,  the  first  thing  I  did  was  a  thing  T 
had  done  already,  alas !  too  often,  —  take  a  drink.  This  I  did 
from  choice.  The  next  thing  I  did  was  also  a  thing  I  liad 
already  done  too  often,  —  look  for  work.  This  I  did  from  sheer 
necessity.  I  was  almost  literally  penniless.  For  several  days 
I  trudged  through  St.  Louis,  seeking  employment,  but  not  find- 
ing it.  On  two  or  three  occasions  I  seemed  to  impress  those  I 
called  upon  favorably  at  first.  But,  after  a  talk  with  me,  they 
dismissed  me  in,  it  seemed  to  me,  disgust.  I  believe  now  that 
it  really  was  in  disgust,  —  disgust  arising  from  the  opportunity  I 
unwittingly  gave  them,  during  my  talk  with  them,  of  smelling 
my  breath.  The  reader  may  be  inclined  to  smile  at  this,  but 
I  found  it  was  no  smiling  matter. 

Really,  among  the  many  evils  that  rum-drinking  brings  with 
it,  not  the  least  is  its  pollution  of  the  mouth  and  breath.  This 
may  be  a  minor  point ;  but  it  has  its  importance,  and  its  impor- 
tant disadvantages.  Rum-drinkers  unconsciously  confess  this 
themselves  by  the  pains  they  take  to  counteract  it.  There  are 
at  least  a  half  a  dozen  preparations  in  vogue  among  drinking- 
men,  having  for  their  avowed  object  the  purification  of  the 
breath  after  its  deliberate  defouling  with  the  fumes  of  alcohol. 

22S 


226  THE  POOR  OLD  LADY  AT  THE  PLAY. 

In  heated  rooms,  crowded  assemblages,  and  theatres,  this 
rum-polluted  breath-nuisance  becomes  quite  serious.  A  case 
recently  transpired  in  which  an  old  ladj  at  a  theatre  was  ren- 
dered deathly  sick  from  the  vile  breath  of  a  strange  gentleman 
who  sat  next  to  her,  and  who  "  went  out "  to  •*'  see  a  man  "  be- 
tween each  act  of  a  five-act  play.  Poor  old  lady,  she  deserved 
sympathy.  She  had  come  to  the  theatre  to  witness  one  tra- 
gedy. She  was  compelled  to  be  a  spectator  of  two  tragedies, 
or  a  spectator  and  involuntary  actor  in  an  unpaid-for,  unex- 
pected, and  utterly  undesired,  serio-comedy.  The  tragedy  on 
the  stage,  and  the  serio-comedy  at  her  side,  kept  on  culminat- 
ing together.  During  each  act  the  tragedy  of  the  actors  on 
the  stage  increased  in  intensity,  and  after  each  intermission 
the  serio-comedy  of  the  man  on  the  seat  beside  her  with  the 
bad  breath  deepened  in  disgust.  The  play  became  more  har- 
rowing, and  the  man's  breath  grew  more  horiible  simulta- 
neously, till  at  last,  between  the  nervousness  caused  by  what 
she  saw  on  the  stn^'-e,  and  the  nausea  caused  by  what  she 
smelt  off  of  it,  tl.     poor  old  lady  fainted,  and  no  wonder. 

The  story  of  the  young  lady  at  a  play,  who  when  her  escort 
told  her,  during  the  intermission,  that  he  must  "  go  out  for  a 
moment  to  see  the  manager,"  assured  him,  taking  some  carda- 
mom-seeds out  of  her  pocket,  that  she  had  "  brought  a  manager 
with  her,"  contains  "a  moral." 

My  experience  in  St.  Louis  likewise  contains  "  a  moral ; "  for 
I  feel  assured,  that  on  several  occasions  I  lost  a  chance  at  a 
good  situation,  simply  and  so^'^y  b'  ause  the  parties  to  whom 
I  applied  for  employment  smelt  my     'eath. 

But  at  last  I  came  across  a  hotel-miui  who  did  not  regard  my 
breath  as  a  disadvantage.  It  would  really  be  the  height  of 
impudence  and  unfairness  for  an  average  hotel-man  (and  rum- 
seller)  to  object  to  a  man's  smelling  of  rum.  And  this  partic- 
ular hotel-man  was  so  favorably  impressed  witli   my  general 


A  GAME  OF  BASE-BA  ]VL.  227 

appearance  and  "  talk,"  that  he  engaged  me  on  the  spot  as  a 
"  runner,"  or  "  tooter,"  for  his  hotel. 

A  bargain  between  us  was  soon  struck.  I  was  in  no  condi- 
tion to  parley  long.  Besides,  the  terms  offered  me  were  really 
liberal  enough.  I  was  to  have  no  wages.  I  was  to  receive  no 
money  direct,  except  what  I  might  "  pick  up "  in  odd  jobs. 
But  I  was  to  have  a  room  or  a  bed,  and  my  three  meals  a  day, 
at  the  hotel.  And  "  board  and  lodging "  both  mean  a  good 
deal  to  a  man  who  is  noc  sure  of  either.  So  I  became  "  a  hotel 
runner." 

It  was  my  duty  to  be  at  the  depots  at  the  arrival  of  trains, 
and  to  cry  out  my  hotel,  and  induce  passengers  to  give  it  a  trial. 
It  was  a  post  requiring  activity  and  lung-power,  with  assurance. 
And  I  possessed  all  three  qualities  in  about  equal  proportions. 

Of  course,  there  were  other  "  runners"  for  other  hotels ;  and 
we  tried,  in  the  way  of  business,  to  out-bawl  each  other.  To 
make  a  base  pun,  it  was  between  us  a  sort  of  game  of  base 
"  bawl."  (N.B.  —  This  joke  has  been  copyrighted,  and  any  in- 
fringement upon  it  will  be  dealt  with  according  to  law.) 

For  a  few  days  I  found  myself  the  most  successful  "  runner," 
because  undoubtedly  the  loudest  "  bawler."  Then  "  my  nose 
was  put  out  of  joint,"  or  at  least  my  "  jaw  "  was,  by  a  rival 
hotel  engaging  ■^'i^.  services  of  a  ''ig,  strapping  Irishman,  who 
had  the  biggest  fist  and  the  biggest  mouth  I  ever  remember 
seeing,  and  certainly  the  very  loudest  voice  T  ever  remember 
'icarin;..  From  the  moment  I  heard  the  "  high  notes "  of  this 
Irishman,  I  felt  my  doom  as  a  bawler  was  sealed.  For  two 
days,  however,  I  contended,  though  from  the  start  vainly,  with 
tlie  possessor  of  this  stupendous  vccal  organ.  I  yelled  myself 
hoarse.  I  nearly  burst  a  blood-vessel,  and  cracked  my  lungs. 
I  utterly  exhausted  my  wind-power,  while  the  Irishman  se- 
renely screamed  an  octave  higher.  It  was  of  no  use.  I  ac- 
cepted the  inevitable,  and  I  bawled  no  more. 


228  CUNNING   VERSUS  LUNG-POWER. 

But  I  did  not  abandon  my  business  as  a  "  runner,"  —  no.  I 
had  too  much  nerve  for  that,  and,  I  flatter  myself,  too  much  wit. 
Richelieu  is  said  to  have  adopted  Lysander's  motto :  "  When 
the  lion's  skin  falls  short,  eke  it  out  with  the  fox's ; "  that  is  to 
say,  when  force  fails,  try  cunning.  And  1  copied  from  Iliclie- 
lieu,  without  then  thinking  either  of  Richelieu  or  Lysander. 
Finding  I  could  not  out-bawl  my  Irishman,  I  tried  to  out- 
general him,  and  succeeded. 

I  saved  my  lungs.  I  let  the  Irishman  shout  away,  while  I 
put  on  my  most  winning  smiles,  and,  watching  like  a  hawk  all 
strangers  at  the  depots,  gently  approached  them,  and  insinu- 
ated myself  into  their  confidence.  I  did  not  yell  out  the  name 
of  my  hotel :  I  merely  smilingly  and  softly  suggested  it  to  the 
stra}'  passenger.  Approaching  him  or  her,  I  would  bow  politely 
and  deferentially,  and,  as  if  I  were  a  humble  friend  and  a  sin- 
cere well-wisher,  would  insinuate  rather  than  state,  that  the  ho- 
tel I  had  the  honor  to  represent  was  confessedly  the  very  finest 
in  St.  Louis,  —  at  least  the  veiy  finest  for  such  a  gentleman  or 
lady  as  the  passenger.  And  just  as,  according  to  Solomon,  "a 
soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath  ; "  so,  according  to  Thomas  N. 
Doutney,  my  readers  may  rest  assured  that  "  a  soft,  insinuating 
suggestion  often  turneth  the  stranger  into  the  hotel  to  which 
he  cr  she  should  go."  I  found  it  so  in  a  score  of  cases,  and 
have  here  the  proud  satisfaction  of  recorduig  that  I  completely 
conquered  at  last  my  loud-voiced  conqueror,  and  succeeded  in 
sending  more  passengers  to  my  hotel  than  he  sent  to  his. 

For  a  while  I  enjoyed  my  victory,  and  my  life  as  "  a  hotel 
runner."  By  the  by,  while  on  this  subject,  I  have  recently 
discovered  that  "  hotel  running "  or  "  tooting "  is  not  un- 
known at  Northern  fashionable  watering-i)laces.  At  Long 
Branch,  for  instance,  last  summer  a  big,  burly  man  (in  winter- 
time a  ticket-speculator  in  New  York)  was  regularly  employed 
as  a  "runner"  for  a  prominent  hotel  near  the  pier,  and,  by  his 


LIFE  IN  8T.  LOUIS.  229 

energies  and  lungs,  materially  contributed  to  the  prosperity  of 
Ills  hotel. 

After  all,  I  suppose  the  business  is  legitimate  enough  ;  but  it 
is  certainly  not  of  a  very  intellectual  or  elevating  nature,  and 
erelong  I  wearied  of  it.  My  associations  as  a  "  runner  "  had 
by  this  time  brought  me  into  contact  with  many  railroad -men 
around  the  depots ;  and,  having  been  a  "•  railroad-man  "  myself, 
I  gradually  drifted  back  into  my  old  life :  and  finally,  abandon- 
ing my  career  as  a  "  runner,"  I  obtained  tlie  more  congenial  and 
better-paid  position  of  a  clerk  in  the  freight-department  of  the 
then  North  Missouri  Railroad.  For  some  time  I  discharged  the 
duties  of  my  new  position  with  satisfaction  to  myself  and  my 
employers,  and  lived,  on  the  whole,  pleasantly  and  not  dishon- 
orably in  St.  Louis. 

There  is  much  in  St.  Louis,  as  a  city,  to  attract  the  stranger, 
as  well  as  to  charm  the  resident.  It  has  points  and  charac- 
teristics of  its  own  quite  as  marked  as  any  that  distinguish  its 
rivals,  Cincinnati  or  Chicago.  It  has  a  mingled  flavor  of  South- 
ern as  well  as  of  Western  life  about  it,  and,  while  thoroughly 
American,  is  to  a  large  degree  German. 

Its  -'upper  classes"  ii.'e  highly  cultured.  It  possesses  great 
wealth  and  wonderful  resources ;  while  its  "  average  "  citizens, 
its  middle  classes,  are  honest,  law-abiding,  and  industrious. 

But,  like  all  great  cities,  it  is  cursed  with  the  vice  of  intem- 
perance. It  is  a  city  of  drinking-saloons  and  beer-gardens, 
and  in  these  places  I  was  far  too  frequently  to  be  found.  In 
short,  I  kept  on  drinking  as  well  as  working ;  and  although  I 
had  once  more,  in  my  ever-changing  life,  mastered  my  business, 
and  gained  a  situation,  I  had  not  mastered  myself,  or  gained  a 
victory  over  my  great  enemy,  —  liquor. 

But  I  was  not  wholly  depraved.  I  did  not  sink  quite  so  low 
in  St.  Louis  as  I  had  sunk  elsewhere  ;  and  among  a  few  desira- 
ble and  respectable  acquaintances,  I  had  won,  to  a  certain 


230  THE  FATAL  LETTER. 

degree  at  least,  the  esteem  and  friendship  of  a  good  man,  —  a 
clergyman,  —  wlio  took  an  interest  in  my  welfare,  temporal  and 
spiritual,  and  upon  whom  I  began  to  look  in  my  comparative 
loneliness  almost  as  a  second  father.  My  letters  came  in  his 
care ;  and  one  ever  sadly  memorable  Sunday  evening,  when  I 
called  at  his  house,  he  handed  me  a  black-bordered  letter, 
which,  from  the  handwriting,  I  recognized  as  being  from  my 
brother  William.  With  a  trembling  hand,  dreadhig  I  knew 
not  what,  I  broke  the  seal ;  and  my  worst  possible  fears  were 
realized.  Death  had  invaded  our  family  circle  ,  and  my  father, 
my  true,  real,  only,  much-loved  father,  was  no  more.  Two 
weeks  before  I  received  the  letter  he  had  departed  this  life,  and 
had  gone  to  receive  the  reward  of  the  just  and  the  good,  TJio 
hot  tears  coursed  down  my  cheeks  as  I  thought  how  many  pangs 
I  had  caused  him  by  my  dissolute  conduct,  and  he  so  patient, 
loving,  and  hopeful  of  liis  erring  son.  He  never  gave  me  up, 
nor  abandoned  me ;  and  my  emotions  overcame  me.  I  should 
have  fallen  to  the  floor  had  not  the  venerable  clergyman  sui> 
ported  me,  and  led  me  to  a  room,  where  my  long-pent-up  agony 
could  no  longer  be  controlled.  Naturally  sensitive,  I  now  felt 
keener  than  ever  the  loss  of  my  father,  and  my  own  ingratitude. 
I  realized  what  a  wretch  I  had  been.  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer;  but,  rushing  out  on  the  streets  of  St.  Louis,  I  knew 
not  nor  cared  not  what  I  did.  Alas !  in  my  grief  and  despair 
I  sought  a  temporary  relief  in  my  old  curse,  —  rum.  I  drank 
and  drank  until  my  brain  was  doubly  maddened ;  and  then, 
oh,  strange  inconsistency !  with  my  brain  on  fire  with  liquor,  I 
tried  to  pray.  My  father  was  dead !  These  words  were  ring- 
n)g  in  my  ears  with  a  fearful  meaning.  I,  a  wanderer  from 
home,  in  my  dark  hours  had  heard  the  sad  tidings ;  and  I  knew 
I  should  never  see  him  more.  All  night  I  paced  the  streets, 
and  wished  I  was  dead,  I  besought  God  to  take  me  out 
of  the  world,    I  felt  I  AVas  in  one  sense  a  murderer, — the 


"My  long-pent-up  agony  lould  no  longer  be  controlled"  [p.  230], 


A  FATHER  LEAD.  281 

murderer  of  a  loving  parent;  for  my  conduct  had  been  tho 
means  of  hurrying  my  poor  father  to  the  grave.  I  fee!  even 
now,  that,  if  he  could  only  have  been  spared  to  see  me  a 
reformed  man,  I  would  willingly  have  suffered  ten  thousand 
times  the  amount  I  have ;  but  he  was  not  permitted  to  do  so, 
and  with  sad  misgivings  for  his  eldest  son  he  must  have  passed 
away.  The  first  glass  was  the  occasion  of  all  my  trouble  and 
much  of  his.  For  God's  sake  beware  of  the  first  glass.  But, 
thank  God  I  my  dear  father  is  not  even  now  wholly  lost  to  me. 

"Not  lost  forever,  whilst  around  me  springing 

The  violets  weep,  the  roses  blush  and  bloom, 
And  summer  birds,  in  summer  woodlands  singing, 

Flood  with  soft  rapture  all  the  tranquil  gloom ; 
Not  lost  forever,  though  on  earth  we've  parted; 

Xot  lost  forever,  though  we  meet  no  more : 
They  do  not  wander  sad  and  broken-hearted 

Who  see  heaven's  radiance  from  this  mortal  shore. 
Th(!re  shall  be  meaning  in  the  stars  and  flowers, 

The  deep  and  solemn  voices  of  the  sea, 
Telling  of  happy  dreams,  of  happy  hours. 

Of  life  and  suushine  which  it  caught  from  thee." 

How  T  got  through  that  terrible  Sunday  I  scarcely  know,  but 
it  passed ;  and  early  Monday  morning  I  went  to  the  railroad 
office  where  I  was  employed,  and  saw  personally  the  president 
of  the  road,  Mr.  -saac  Sturgeon.  He  had  already  heard,  casu- 
ally, from  the  clerks  of  my  father's  death ;  and  when,  with 
faltering  voice,  I  told  him  that  I  desired  to  return  East  to  pay 
my  last  and  only  tribute  to  his  memory  by  looking  on  all  that 
was  visible  of  him,  —  his  grave,  —  he  at  once  kindly  furnished 
me  with  a  ticket  to  Boston. 

So  I  left  St.  Louis,  and  turned  my  face  northward  and 
eastward,  starting  on  a  sadly  solemn  journey,  terminating  in 
a  father's  grave. 


232  AT  J/r  FATllEU'S  OBAVE. 

While  en  route^  sad  and  penitential  thoughta  possessed  me. 
But,  reaching  New  York,  ^  met,  unfortunately,  with  some  of 
my  "  old  cronies,"  my  former  dissolute  companions  in  the  great 
metropolis.  Temporarily  oblivious  of  my  grief,  I  once  more 
sought  distraction  in  drink.  Alas,  alas!  the  awful  shadowa 
from  a  dear  one's  grave  cannot  stand  successfully  to  bar  the 
path  that  leads  the  drunkard  to  his  rum  and  ruin  !  On  the 
way  to  my  father's  tomb  I  "  went  on  a  spree  "  (as  the  fearful 
and  fearfully  familiar  slang  phrase  goes),  and  yet  I  loved  my 
father.  Finally  I  arrived  in  Boston  with  saddened  heart,  but 
also  with  shattered  nerves  and  an  aching  head. 

At  the  depot  I  met  my  brothers,  who  were  anxiously  await- 
ing me.  Our  meeting  was  affecting ;  for  we  shicerely  loved 
each  other,  and  had  all  loved  the  one  we  had  just  lost.  With 
tears  I  heard  the  full  particulars  of  my  dear  father's  death. 
He  had  died,  as  he  had  lived,  in  the  fear  and  love  of  God.  Pie 
had  died,  as  every  true  man  would  wish  to  die,  at  peace  with 
God  and  the  world.  The  prayer  in  his  case  had  been  fulfilled : 
"  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end 
be  like  his;"  and  "we  sorrowed,  but  not  as  those  without 
hope." 

And  then  we  brothers  went  to  our  father's  grave  in  the 
small  cemetery  near  Forest  Hills. 

"  Only  this,  only  this, 

All  this  love  and  all  this  trust ; 
Only  this,  only  this, 

Only  a  handful  of  quiet  dust, 
And  a  grave  beneath  the  daisits." 

And,  kneeling  down  beside  it,  I  humbly  prayed,  and  asked 
the  Divine  forgiveness,  and  the  forgiveness  of  that  father  whom 
I  trusted  was  now  a  saint  in  heaven.  Sinner  that  I  was,  I  was 
sincere  in  this  prayer;  and  I  arose  feelirg  that  my  cry  had 
been  heard,  and  that  my  father  now  looked  smiling  from  above. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MY  NBW8rAPER-I.IFK  IN  NKW  YOllK.  —  AUTUOU8,  CB1TIC8,  WRITEHS,  AJJD 
JOUUNALI8TH  AS  DUINKIMa-MUN.  —  HOW  HUUACU  UUKELEY  IIK(iAN  A  IHN- 
NKR-81'EECII.  —  SMAltT  MEN  WHO  PUT  AN  ENEMY  INTO  TUEIR  MOUTIIH 
TO  STEAr,  AWAY  TIIKIU  RRAIN8.  —  ALCOHOLIC  HTIMULjrtjTS  A  CUIC8E  TO 
TALENT.  —  FA.ST  BALLS,  ANI>  THEIR  BURROUNUINOS. — ULSINES8  AND 
DRINK. —A  BLE88INO  THAT  PROVED  A  DANE. 

Having  performed  tlie  last  sad  offices  in  memory  of  the  dear 
departed,  I  had  now  to  return  to  the  world,  and  face  realities. 
My  situation  was  practically  this :  here  I  was  in  lioston  again, 
with  little  money  and  no  situation.  My  place  in  St.  Louis  had 
been  filled,  and  I  had  small  prospects  of  procuring  a  place 
in  Boston.  I  again  resumed  the  by  this  time  to  nic  familiar 
occupation  of  looking  for  occupation  ;  but  I  was  not,  as  usual, 
successful.  After  spending;  a  few  days  with  my  poor,  discon- 
solate brothers,  as  their  guest,  not  wishing  to  tax  their  resources 
further,  I  bade  them  an  affectionata  and  sorrowful  adieu,  not 
knowing  when,  if  ever,  we  should  meet  again,  and  went  to  New 
York,  the  great  city  which  has  always  exercised  on  me  the 
same  fascination  that  it  has  upon  thousands  of  others.  I 
turned  to  New  York  as  the  moth  turns  to  flutter  around  the 
candle. 

Arriving  in  New  York,  I  conceived  an  idea,  upon  which 
I  forthwith  acted.  It  proved  "  a  happy  thought."  I  believe  I 
have  previously  mentioned  the  fact  that  my  dear,  lamented 
father  had  for  a  while  been  in  the  employ  of  the  proprietors  of 
"  The  Army  and  Navy  Journal,"  the  Messrs.  Church  Broth- 
ers.   Upon  these  gentlemen,  the  Church  Brothers,  I  at  once 

233 


284  "  SrENDINO"   MONET. 

culled ;  ami,  availing  myself  of  the  reapoct  and  kindly  remem- 
brance they  cherished  towards  my  father,  I  asked  them  for 
Work.  Tliey  granted  my  request.  The  kindness  they  had 
extended  to  the  father,  they  continued  to  the  son. 

I  breathed  a  hearty  sigh  of  relief  when  I  had  obtained  this 
new  situation,  for  it  indeed  relieved  me  of  burdening  anxieties. 
True,  I  had  earned  a  good  salary  in  St.  Louis ;  but  1  had  spent 
the  major  portion  thereof  in  liquor. 

Of  how  many  hundreds,  of  how  many  thoiisands,  of  salary- 
drawing  men  can  these  words  be  truthfully  written,  they 
"spend  the  major  portion  of  tlielr  salaries  in  licjuorl"  Poor 
fools  !  and  yet  they  would  resent  the  being  called  a  fool. 

I  was  again  in  a  fairly  paid  position.  I  had  the  ojjportunity 
to  honestly  and  easily  earn  needful  and  comfortable  board, 
lodging,  and  clothing,  and  a  chance  to  even  save  money  besides. 
I  earned  my  money,  but  what  did  I  do  with  it  when  earned? 
True,  I  "  lived,"  and  lived  fairly  well  in  all  material  points. 
So  far,  so  good ;  but  what  did  I  do  with  my  spare  money,  my 
over-and-above-expenses  money  ?  Did  I  consider  it  as  "  sav- 
ing ' '  money,  or  as  (to  use  that  frightfully  familiar  and  expres- 
sive phrase)  '''•spending  money."  Heaven  forgive  me  for  my 
folly,  but  I  spent  it  all.  I  saved  nothing ;  and,  incredibly  silly 
as  it  was,  I  spent  most  of  it  in  rum. 

Having  suffered  from  intemperance  as  I  had  suffered,  one 
would  naturally  reason  that  I  would  hereafter  shun  indulgence 
in  liquor.     But  I  did  not  shun  the  cup :  I  sought  it. 

I  was  now  "a  newspaper-man,"  —  at  least  a  man  connected 
with  a  newspaper:  and  "newspaper-men,"  great  and  small, 
have  their  own  peculiar  temptations ;  and  among  their  strong- 
est temptations  is  intemperance.  There  was  a  public  dinner 
once  given  in  the  Astor  House  to  De  Groot,  the  projector  of 
the  Vanderbilt  Bronzes,  or  monument,  near  St.  John's  Park. 
To  this  dinner  Horace  Greeley  was  invited,  and  he  accepted  the 


WRITERS  AS  DRINKERS.  235 

invitation.  The  veteran  editor,  with  his  slirewdly  benevolent 
luce,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  ate  heartily,  but  drank 
nothing  but  water ;  though  all  the  rest  took  wine,  and  took  it 
freely.  After  a  while  Mr.  (ireeley  wan  called  upon  for  a  speech  ; 
and,  rising,  he  coinnienced  as  follows:  '*  I  have  already  seen 
two  generations  of  editors  die  drunk,  and  I  am  expecting  to 
live  to  see  the  third  generation  follow  their  example."  This 
"  opening  "  was  greeted  with  good-mitured  lauglitor,  everybody 
making  allowances  for  what  they  called  the  "old  man's  cold- 
water  hobby."  JUit  in  these  words  Horace  Greeley  uttered  ft 
most  lamentable  but  undeniable  truth.  It  was  hardly  polite 
for  him,  under  the  cireimistances,  I  confess,  to  say  the  words 
at  all:  but  perhaps  he  meant  them  for  a  warning  to  his  hearers; 
and,  as  a  mere  matter  of  fact,  they  contained  as  much  truth  as 
ever  was  printed  in  any  editorial  in  the  "Tribune." 

Newspai)er-men  (reporters,  correspondents,  critics,  editors), 
magazine-writers,  poets,  novelists,  dramatists,  writers  generally 
of  books  and  papers,  as  a  class,  are  hard  drinkers.  Writing- 
men  are  drinkinff-men.  It  is  a  sad  truth,  but  a  positive  fact. 
True,  Shakspeare,  the  greatest  of  modern  writers,  in  some 
respects  tlie  greatest  of  all  writers,  lias  put  into  the  mouths  of 
some  of  his  iumiortal  characters  immortal  words  protesting 
against  intemperance. 

"  Oh  that  men  will  put  an  enemy  into  tlieir  mouths  to  steal  away 
their  brains !  " 

"O  thou  invisible  Spirit  of  "Wine,  if  tliou  hast  no  other  name  to 
be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee  Devil." 

And  yet  Shakspeare,  unless  persistently  belied,  was  a  drink- 
ing-man  himself,  and,  it  is  even  said,  died  from  the  effects  of  a 
drinking  "  bout." 

Before  Shakspeare's  times,  and  since,  poets  have  sung  the 
praises  of  wine,  from  Horace  to  Moore.    And  in  plays  and 


236  TUE  BOHEMIANS   OF  NEW   YORK. 

operas  drinking-songs  have  ever  been  popular.  The  most 
brilliant  operatic  music  which  holds  the  lyric  stage  to-day 
accompanies  a  libretto  of  wine-bibbing.  The  literature  of  in- 
temperance is  voluminous  and  fearfully  fascinating,  and  it 
pervades  prose  as  well  as  poetry.  The  novelists  have  been 
mostly  drinking-men,  and  have  never  protested  in  their  famous 
books  against  intemperance.  Other  evils  have  been  wonder- 
fully well  described,  and  wonderfully  well  reprobated ;  but  the 
evils  of  rum-drinking  have  yet  to  find  their  Charles  Dickens 
or  their  Victor  Hugo. 

Perhaps  the  most  "  original "  and  exceptionally  gifted  of 
American  writers,  Edgar  A.  Poe,  fell  a  victim  to  the  curse  of 
intemperance.  And  his  fatal  vice  has  found,  among  his  less- 
gifted  but  equally  weak  literary  associates,  hundreds  of  imi- 
tators and  fellow-victims. 

And  among  that  brilliant  but  erratic  class,  called,  for  a  lack 
of  a  more  distinctive  name,  "  Bohemians,"  i.e.,  writers  for 
magazines  and  journals,  liquor  has  reigned  supreme.  Time 
was  when  the  Bohemians  of  New  York  comprised  probably  as 
brilliant  a  set  of  men  as  were  ever  congregated  in  one  city  at 
one  time  in  the  world.  The  old  "  Leader  "  newspaper,  and  the 
old  "  Knickerbocker  "  magazine,  numbered  among  their  con- 
tributors some  of  the  brightest  spirits  that  periodical  literature 
or  journalism  has  ever  been  able  to  boast  of.  •  They  assembled 
nightly  at  Pfaff  s  famous  old  restaurant  i  and  around  those  plain 
tables  were  uttered  "thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that 
burn."  Literary,  dramatic,  and  musical  matters  were  discussed 
with  zest  and  intelligence ;  and  religion  and  philosophy  were 
treated  of  in  a  truly  catholic  and  philosophical  spirit.  But, 
unfortunately,  these  high  matters  were  discussed  over  beer  or 
ardent  spirits ;  and  the  liquors  gradually  got  the  better  or  the 
worse  of  the  brilliant  men  who  partook  so  continually  and 
copiously  of  them.       •-■'■*     -   -  -'"^     .  •' 


HOW  SOME  JOURNALISTS  HAVE  LIVED  AND  DIED.      237 

The  brilliant  ideas  soon  passed  away,  and  were  forgotten 
too  often  with  the  corvivial  occasion  that  gave  them  birth; 
but  the  evil  effects  of  the  evil  spirits  endured  and  increased, 
till  at  last  beer  obliterated  brains,  and  alcohol  destroyed  the 
writers  one  by  one.  Of  the  Bohemians  of  Pfaff's,  but  two 
remain  alive  in  New  York  to-day.  The  rest  of  the  brilliant 
baud  have  perished  wreck.".  One,  by  far  the  most  brilliant  of 
the  number,  lived  to  become  an  object  of  aversion  to  those 
who  did  not  know  him,  and  of  charty  to  those  who  did ;  till 
at  last  he  died  a  pauper.  Another  of  the  number  wandered 
for  months  around  the  streets  of  New  York,  a  homeless  tramp, 
sleeping  in  the  station-houses  in  winter,  and  in  the  city-parks 
in  summer,  till  one  day  he  perished  of  mingled  whiskey  and 
starvation.  A  third  died  horribly  of  delirium  in  his  prime. 
A  fourth  perished  early  of  excess.  A  fifth  expired  in  a  hospi- 
tal, and  so  the  death-list  rolled  up.  It  is  not  saying  loo  much 
to  state,  that,  had.  it  not  been  for  liquor,  nine-tentlis  of  those 
brilliant  Bohemians  would  have  been  alive  to-day. 

And  history  repeats  itself.  Just  as  the  writers  of  the  last 
generation  "died  drunk;"  so  many  of  the  newspaper-writers 
of  the  present  generation  are  going  down  to  their  premature 
deaths,  killing  themselves  slowly  but  surely  by  rum. 

One  of  the  ablest  writers  on  one  of  our  leading  journals  died 
two  or  three  years  ago,  having  never  been  wholly  sober  for  a 
day  at  a  time  for  years.  His  unfortunate  fondness  for  liquor 
was  well  known,  and  great  allowances  were  made  for  it.  But 
at  last  :he  proprietor  of  the  journal  which  he  had  so  long, 
ably,  and  faithfully  served  was  compelled  to  discharge  him. 

Even  then  he  was  given  what  odd  jobs  of  work  could 
possibly  be  allotted  to  him,  but  even  these  jobs  were  not 
attended  to.     He  was  not  in  a  fit  condition  to  attend  to  them. 

The  unfortunate  man  had  a  family  to  whom  he  was  de- 
votedly attached,  though  not  as  devotedly  as  he  was  to  liquor. 


238        A  POOR   YOUNG   VICTIM  OF  INTEMPEEANCE. 

For  a  week  at  a  time  this  family  would  be  forced  to  live  upon 
bread,  —  bare  bread  without  meat,  sometimes  even  without 
butter.  On  one  occasion  it  was  ascertained,  that,  although 
the  weather  was  piercing  cold,  the  family  had  had  no  fire 
in  the  house  for  five  da}'8  and  nights.  There  was  no  money  in 
the  pockets  of  the  husband  and  the  father  to  buy  coal  or  food. 
This  broke  the  old  man's  heart ;  and  he  died,  leaving  his  family 
utterly  destitute. 

Another  attache  of  a  prominent  evening  journal,  although  a 
personal  favorite  of  the  proprietor,  was  several  times  dismissed 
for  intemperance,  and  taken  back  on  solemn  promises  of  refor- 
mation, which  were  constantly  broken.  Finally  he  was  admon- 
ished that  his  next  offence  would  be  fatal,  a  bar  to  all  possible 
future  employrxicut  on  that  journal.  With  this  warning  in  his 
ears,  he  was  sent  to  a  fashionable  summer  resort  to  report 
"the  season."  This  post  was  a  fairly  lucrative  one,  an  honor- 
able one,  an  easy  one  comparatively ,  but  it  necessarily  brought 
him  into  social  and  professional  relations  with  sporting-men, 
politicians,  and  men  of  the  world,  all  drinking-men.  In  an 
evil  hour  he  forgot  the  admonition  he  had  received,  and  fell. 
One  night  he  was  seen  around  the  hotels  beastly  drunk,  and, 
of  course,  was  not  able  the  next  day  to  send  on  his  required 
"letter."  Inquiries  were  made  about  him,  and  a  statement  of 
his  condition  was  sent  on  to  the  New- York  office  of  the  journal. 
One  morning,  as  the  poor  young  victim  of  intemperance  was 
in  his  hotel-room,  trying  to  "brace  himself  up,"  and  "sober 
down,"  as  he  sat  up  in  his  bed,  fevered  and  nervous,  a  knock 
was  heard  at  his  door,  and  a  letter  was  brought  to  him  by  an 
attendant.  The  letter  was  from  the  oflice  in  New  York,  curtly 
dismissing  him  forever  from  his  position  on  the  journal  with 
which  he  had  been  connected  for  years. 

In  a  fit  of  unavailing  despair,  the  poor  young  victim  of 
intemperance,  utterly  demoralized,  hung  himself  by  his  sus- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  AWFUL  DOOM.  239 

penders  to  his  own  bedpost.  He  was  found,  in  the  afternoon, 
cold  and  dead :  the  woman  he  loved  was  a  helpless  widow,  and 
"  rum  did  it." 

One  of  the  ablest  and  most  experienced  editors  onnected 
with  the  New- York  press  is  subject  to  periodical  "  sprees,"  in 
which  he  disappears,  and  wanders  off  from  tavern  to  tavern 
till  the  fit  is  passed,  leaving  him  for  weeks  as  helpless  as  a 
child.  It  is  confidently  expected,  among  others  by  the  afflicted 
editor  himself,  that  sooner  or  later,  in  one  of  these  periodical 
sprees,  the  temporary  madman  will  meet  his  death.  The 
shadow  of  an  awful  doom  is  hanging  over  him ;  and  yet  he 
lacks  the  nerve,  the  moral  courage,  the  will,  to  do  the  only  thing 
that  will  or  can  save  him,  —  abstain  wholly  from  alcohol. 

Perhaps  there  is  a  creature  connected  with  this  self-doomed 
editor  even  more  to  be  pitied  than  the  editor  himself.  I  mean 
his  devoted  wife,  who  suffers  more  than  tongue  can  tell  during 
these  awful  absences  of  her  husband,  who  is,  at  all  other  times, 
a  model  husband. 

Many  other  cases  could  be  cited ;  but  will  not  these  suffice  ? 
Suffice  it  to  state,  that  at  least  four-fifths  of  the  newspaper-men 
of  New  York  are  addicted  to  intemperance,  and  the  same  pro- 
portion holds  in  the  newspaper-men  of  other  cities. 

And  yet  there  is  not  the  slightest  necessity  for  this.  The  plea 
that  writers  and  thinkers  require  spirituous  stimulants  is  a  false 
pita,  utterly  unfounded  in  either  theory  or  fact. 

The  true  theory  is,  that  the  brains  and  nervous  system  of 
writers,  thinkers,  and  students,  being  necessarily  taxed  in  an 
unusual  degree,  they  should,  more  than  other  men,  avoid  all 
extra,  unnecessary,  and  artificial  stimulation.  The  real  fact  of 
the  matter  is,  that  the  leading  writers,  thinkers,  and  students  do 
NOT  indulge  to  any  degree,  if  at  all,  in  stimulants.  "Smart" 
men  often  drink,  but  the  very  "  smartest "  men  do  not, 

Mr.  A.  Arthur  Reade  has  recently  compiled  a  very  interest- 


240  STUDY  AND  STIMULANTS. 

ing  and  valuable  little  volume,  entitled  "  Study  and  Stimu- 
lants; or,  The  Use  of  Intoxicants  and  Narcotics  in  Relation  to 
IntellecLaal  Life,"  as  illustrated  by  personal  communications  on 
the  subject  from  men  of  letters  and  of  science. 

The  editor  of  this  little  volume  [  /hlch  has  been  ably  reviewed  by 
the  critic  of  "  The  New- York  Tribime  "]  has  made  a  contribution  both 
interesting?  and  valuable  to  the  study  of  the  effect  of  stimulants  ui)on 
mental  activity.  He  has  taken  pains  to  collect  personal  opinions  and 
experiences  from  men  distinguished  in  literature  and  science,  and  has 
thereby  arrived  at  conclusions  which  ought  to  Ikj  serviceable  to  think- 
ers. These  conclusions  are  as  follows  :  (1)  That  alcohol  and  tobacco 
are  of  no  value  to  a  healthy  student.  (2)  That  the  most  vigorous 
thinkers  and  hardest  workers  abstain  from  both  stimulants.  (3) 
That  those  who  have  tried  both  moderation  and  total  abstinence,  find 
the  latter  the  more  healthful  practice.  (4)  That  almost  every  brain- 
worker  would  be  the  better  for  abstinence.  (5)  That  the  most 
abstruse  calculations  may  be  made,  and  the  most  laborious  mental 
work  performed,  without  artificial  stimulus.  (6)  That  all  work  done 
under  the  influence  of  alcohol  is  unhealthy  work.  (7)  That  the  only 
pure  brain  stimulants  are  external  ones,  — fresh  air,  cold  water,  walk- 
ing, riding,  and  other  out-door  exercises. 

Not  one  of  the  eminent  meu  whose  letters  Mr.  Reade  prints  has 
resorted  to  alcohol  for  inspiration  aa  stimulus  to  thought,  though  a 
few  of  them  use  it  moderately  as  a  support  under  conditions  of 
mental  and  physical  exhaustion.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  always  abstained 
from  the  use  of  very  strong  and  fiery  stimulants,  and  smoking  he 
detests.  When  LUtrd,  the  French  philosopher,  felt  the  strain  upon 
his  system  produced  by  continuous  thought,  he  repaired  his  natural 
forces,  not  with  alcohol  or  tobacco,  but  with  doses  of  fruit  jelly  or 
jam,  pots  of  which  he  kept  conveniently  at  hand  in  his  study.  Dr. 
Henry  Maudsley  does  not  consider  alcohol  or  tobacco  to  be  in  the 
least  necessary  or  beneficial  to  a  person  who  is  in  good  health.  '*  I 
am  of  opinion,"  he  says,  "  that  any  supposed  necessity  of  one  or  the 
other  to  the  hardest  or  best  mental  bodily  work,  by  such  a  person,  is 


WHAT  GREAT  AUTHORS  THINK  OF  ALCOHOL.        241 

purely  fanciful.  He  will  certainly  do  harder  and  sounder  work  with- 
out them.  I  am  speaking,  of  course,  of  a  person  in  health :  by  a 
person  not  in  health  they  may  he  used  properly,  from  time  to  time,  as 
any  other  drug  would  be  used."  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  holds 
much  the  same  opinions.  He  prefers  an  entirely  undisturbed  and 
unclouded  brain  for  mental  work,  unstimulated  by  any  thing  stronger 
than  tea  or  coffee,  unaffected  by  tobacco  or  other  drugs. 

While  I'rofessor  Tyndall  does  not  think  that  any  general  rule  can 
be  laid  down,  he  is  of  the  opinion  tiiat  that  man  is  hnpi)ieat  wlio  is 
80  organized  as  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  use  of  both  alcohol 
and  tobacco.  Sir  William  Thomson  thinks  that  neither  tobacco  nor 
alcohol  is  of  the  slightest  consequence  as  a  stimulus  or  help  to  intel- 
lectual efforts. 

Mr.  E.  A.  Freeman  has  no  liking  for  the  scented  weed.  "  I  tried 
it  once  or  twice  when  young,"  he  writes  ;  "  but,  finding  it  nasty,  I  did 
not  try  again.  Why  people  smoke,  I  have  no  notion.  If  I  am  tired 
of  work,  a  short  sleep  sets  me  up  again." 

Jules  Simon  regards  the  use  of  tobacco  as  a  practice  much  to  be 
deprecated,  as  its  tendency  is  to  separate  men  from  the  society  of 
women.  He  believes,  too,  that,  when  taken  in  excess,  it  has  a  stu- 
pefying effect,  and  that  it  may  act  as  a  poison.  A  French  senator 
who  departed  this  life  not  long  ago,  assured  him  repeatedly  that  lie 
was  dying  from  tlie  effects  of  constant  smoking. 

Mr.  Charles  Reade  does  not  mention  the  use  of  alcohol,  but 
expresses  decided  opinions  in  the  matter  of  tobacco.  "I  tried  to 
smoke  five  or  six  times,  but  it  always  made  me  heavy  and  rather  sick  : 
tlierefore,  as  it  is  not  a  necessary  of  life,  and  costs  money,  and  makes 
me  sick,  I  spurned  it  from  me.  I  have  never  felt  the  want  of  it.  I 
have  seen  many  people  the  worse  for  it.  I  have  seen  many  people 
apparently  none  the  woi-se  for  it.  I  never  saw  anybody  perceptibly 
the  better  for  it." 

Mr.  W.  D.  Howells  never  uses  tobacco,  except  in  a  rare  self-defen- 
sive cigarette,  when  a  groat  many  other  people  are  smoking ;  and  he 
commonly  drinks  water  at  dinner.  When  he  t.akes  wine,  he  thinks  it 
weakens  his  work  and  his  working- force.     Mr.  Thomas  Hardy  has 


242  A  SENSIBLE  LETTER. 

never  smoked  a  pipeful  of  tobacco  iu  his  life,  nor  a  cignr ;  and  liis 
impression  is,  that  its  use  would  be  very  injurious  iu  his  cnsc.  So  far 
aa  he  has  observed,  it  is  far  from  benefleial  to  any  literary  man.  Mr. 
Hardy  goes  on  to  say,  "  I  liavt  never  found  alcohol  lu'lpfnl  to  novel- 
writing  in  any  degree.  ]My  experience  goes  to  prove,  that  tlie  effect 
of  wine,  taken  as  a  preliminary  to  imaginative  work,  is  to  l)lind  tiie 
writer  to  the  quality  of  what  he  produces  rather  than  to  raise  its 
quality." 

Mr.  Philip  Gill)ert  Ilamerton's  letter  is  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  sensible  in  the  volume  :  — 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  answer  your  question  alx)ut  tobacco.  I 
used  to  smoke  in  moderation  ;  but  siy  years  ago  some  young  friends 
were  staying  at  my  house,  and  thoy  led  me  into  smoking  more  in  the 
•evenings  than  I  was  accustomed  to.  This  brought  on  disturbed  nights 
and  dull  mornings ;  so  I  gave  up  smoking  altogether,  as  an  experi- 
ment, for  six  months.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  I  found  my  general 
healtK  so  much  improved,  that  I  determined  to  make  abstinence  a 
ipermanent  rule,  and  have  stuck  to  my  determination  ever  since,  with 
.decided  benefit.  I  shall  certainly  never  resume  smoking.  I  never 
use  any  stimulants  whatever  when  writing,  and  I  believe  the  use 
of  them  to  be  most  pernicious :  indeed,  I  have  seen  terrible  results 
from  them.  When  a  writer  feels  dull,  the  liest  stimulant  is  fresh 
nir.  Victor  Hugo  makes  a  good  fire  before  writing,  and  tlien  opens 
.the  windows-  I  have  often  found  temporary  dulness  removed  by 
taking  a  turn  out  of  doors,  or  simply  by  adopting  Victor  Hugo's 
j)lan." 

The  venerable  James  Martinean  (now  seventy-seven) .  who  is  prac- 
tically an  abstainer,  has  untroubled  sleep  and  digestion,  and  has 
retained  the  power  of  mental  application  with  only  tliis  abatement 
perceptible  to  himself,  that  a  given  task  requires  a  somewhat  longer 
time  than  in  fresher  days.  Few  things,  he  believes,  do  more  at  a 
minimum  of  cost  to  lighten  the  spirits,  and  sweeten  the  temper  of 
families  and  of  society,  than  the  repudiation  of  artificial  indulgences. 
Mr.  George  Augustus  Sala  says  that  he  has  been  a  constant  smoker 
for  nearly  forty  years  ;  but,  had  he  to  live  his  life  over  again,  he  would 


AUTHORS  WHO  were  not  drunkards.         243 

never  touch  tobacco  in  any  shape  or  form.  He  complains  tliat  drink- 
ing to  excess  weakens  tlie  eyesi^lit,  impairs  tlie  digestion,  plays  iiavoc 
with  the  nerves,  ami  interferes  with  the  action  of  the  heart. 

Professor  Paul  liert,  the  wclUkiiown  aavant,  sums  up  his  opiuions 
in  the  following  propositions  :  — 

♦'  (1)  Whole  populations  have  attained  to  a  high  degree  of  civil- 
ization and  prosperity  without  having  known  either  tobacco  or  alcoiiol  : 
therefore  these  substances  are  neither  necessary  nor  even  useful  to 
individuals  as  well  as  races.  (2)  Very  considerable  quantities  of 
these  drngs,  taken  at  a  single  dose,  may  cause  death  :  smaller  quanti- 
ties stupefy,  or  kill  more  slowly.  They  are,  tiierefore,  poisons,  against 
which  we  must  be  on  our  guard." 

William  Cullen  Bryant,  editor  and  poet,  was  a  very  abstemi- 
ous man ;  Longfellow  was  extremely  temperate  in  his  habits ; 
Horace  Greeley,  the  most  influential  journalist  of  his  time,  was 
"a  teetotaler."  Numerous  other  examples  could  be  cited  i  but 
certainly  the  list  I  have  just  given  proves  incontestably  the 
point,  that  artificial  stimulants  are  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
essential  to  literary  achievement. 

Consequentl3%  I  would  here  take  the  liberty  of  urging  upon 
writers,  students,  and  literary  men,  the  absolute  importance  of 
temperance,  and  would  earnestly  and  respectfully  record  my 
protest  against  the  drinking-h.abits  of  newspaper-men. 

But  it  is,  after  all,  not  their  professional  life,  but  their  social 
life, that  leads  most  newspaper-men  to  drink.  They  "indulge," 
not  from  even  any  fancied  idea  of  nervous  necessity,  but  from 
sheer  conviviality. 

They  attend  theatres  largely,  and  go  to  public  balls ;  and  in 
these  crowded  places  they  meet  associates,  male  and  female, 
with  whom  they  imbibe  wine  and  alcoholic  stimulants. 

Of  late  years  the  great  public  balls  of  New  York  have  be- 
come saturnalias  of  intemperance.  I  allude,  not  only  to  the 
"fast"  public  balls,  "the  French  balls,"  so  called,  but  to  even 


244  PUBLIC  PALLS. 

the  bulls  of  the  highest  grade,  —  the  fashionable  "  chanty  ball," 
and  the  popular  "Liederkranz." 

The  scenes  at  the  suppers  and  in  the  "  wine-rooms  "  of  tlieso 
public  balls  are  often  so  grt)ss  as  almost  to  be  beyond  respect- 
able description.  In  plain  English,  at  these  balls  men  and 
women,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  often  get  drunk  together. 

Any  ball  habituS  will  bear  mo  out  in  my  assertion,  that  not 
only  married  Ijidies,  but  their  daughters ;  not  only  men,  but  the 
fenuile  members  of  their  families,  —  can  be  seen  at  every  public 
ball  held  at  the  Academy  of  Music,  in  a  state  of  stimulation 
and  exhilaration  from  wine  closely  bordering  upon  positive  in- 
toxication. 

The  most  "profitable"  pecuniarily  of  all  the  "privileges" 
connected  with  a  ball  are  the  "  wine  "  and  "  bar "  privileges. 
Some  public  balls  are  every  season  gotten  up  wholly  by  wine- 
dealers  as  a  vehicle  to  advertise  and  dispose  of  their  wares : 
they  are  known  among  the  initiated  as  "  wine-balls."  The 
statistics  of  the  number  of  bottles  sold  at  these  "wine-balls" 
are,  to  a  thoughtful  mind,  simply  frightful.  And  there  can  be 
no  manner  of  doubt  that  these  public  balls  have  become  the 
most  demoralizing  agents  among  our  public  amusements. 

Attending  these  balls  regularly,  and  as  a  matter  of  "  busi- 
ness," being  of  necessity  conspicuous  parts  of  these  balls, 
it  is  the  most  natural,  though  lamentable,  thing  in  the  world, 
that  the  reporters  should  yield  to  the  temptations  by  which 
they  are  surrounded.  I  write  this  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
censure,  for  I  have  ever  cherished  a  tender  regard  for  "  news- 
paper-men ; "  and  it  is  for  the  sake  of  this  tender  regard, 
that  I  would  here,  in  taking  leave  of  this  subject,  warn  the 
newspaper-writers  of  the  present  day  against  that  vice  to  which 
they  are  so  peculiarly  exposed, — intemperance.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  some  one  had  warned  me,  at  the  period  of  my  life  of 
which  I  am  now  writing,  against  the  peculiar  dangers  of  a 


A  LEPOT-MASTER  AND  A   FOOL  —  HOTn.  245 

newspaper-career,  and  that  I  had  taken  heed  of  the  warning, 
lint,  as  it  was,  I  yielded  without  a  struggle  to  my  old  enemy, 
drink,  and  soon  becanie  a  confirmed  sot,  with  just  enough  re- 
straint over  myself  not  to  directly  lose  my  position  on  my  paper 
by  neglecting  my  imperative  duties.  Hut  my  employers  began 
to  be  (iissati.slied  with  me,  and  no  wonder ;  and,  having  been 
brought  by  my  newspaper  duties  into  relations  more  or  less  in- 
timate witli  railroad  officials,  I  finally  applied  for  and  obtained  a 
situation  on  the  People's  Despatch,  a  fast  freight-line  owned  by 
the  then  existing  Merchants'  Union  Express  Company,  of  wliich 
Mr.  Van  Duzen  was  the  general  agent.  I  had  ever  taken  kindly 
to  "  railroad-life  ; "  and  in  my  new  ])Osition,  spite  of  my  dissolute 
habits,  I  gave  such  satisfaction,  that  I  was  promoted  to  take 
charge  of  the  entire  depot  business  of  the  company  at  Boston, 
to  which  city  I  was  now  transferred.  Here  my  position  was 
technically  that  of  "depot-master;  "  my  superior  officer  being 
Fred.  Wilde,  Esq.,  a  very  capable  and  efficient  railroad-man, 
who  was  then,  as  afterwards,  general  freight  and  ticket  agent 
for  the  Western  Union  Railroad  at  Racine,  Wis. 

I  pleased  Mr.  Wilde,  and  my  prospects  were  now  flattering. 
Had  I  been  wise  and  self-controlled,  had  I  only  left  rum  alone, 
I  would  doubtless  have  from  this  time  gone  onward  and  up- 
ward. I  understood  thoroughly  every  department  of  my  busi- 
ness. I  liked  my  work,  and  my  associates  liked  me.  I  had  a 
fair  salary,  with  a  chance  for  advancement.  How  many  thou- 
sands of  young  men  would  have  thanked  God  for  my  opportu- 
nities, and  availed  themselves  of  them  to  the  utmost.  But  I 
deliberately  threw  away  my  chances  for  a  steady,  profitable 
career,  and,  having  saved  a  little  money,  made  up  my  mind  to 
spend  it  in  ^^ seeing  life;"  that  is,  in  drinking  rum,  for  I  had 
reached  that  fearful  stage  when  "  rum  "  was  "  life."  I  blush 
now  to  record  it ;  but  I  absolutely  and  deliberately  resigned  my 
positio^i  as  depot-master  (spite  of  the  protests  of  Mr.  Wilde, 


246  TUE   Ul'WAliD  PATU. 

wlu)  furiiishotl  mo  kindly  with  lettera  of  iiulorHcment),  nntl 
blurted  oil"  on  njy  travels,  or  «pree8,  visiting  and  diinking  —  the 
two  terms  with  n'o  wero  synonymous  —  in  New  York,  I'hilii- 
delphia,  Hiiitimore,  and  Cuiuidii,  wasting  my  time,  healili, 
and  money  in  foolish,  fatal  dissipation.  '^  Ephraim  was  joined 
to  his  idols  "  indeed. 

With  all  the  blessings  of  life  showered  upon  me  from  above, 
I  deliberately  let  the  golden  shower  fall  in  vain.  With  uU  my 
business  opportunities  and  business  abilities,  I  became  an  idler 
and  a  drunkard ;  while  other  young  men,  no  more  gifted  by  na- 
ture, and  no  more  favored  by  fortune,  than  myself,  became,  by 
steady  attention  to  business,  infinitely  my  superiors.  Thi'i/ 
took  the  path  that  led  uptvard. 

And  here  let  me  draw  the  parallel,  or  the  contrast,  between 
two  persons  starting  with  even  prospects  in  life,  and  sliow  how 
sobriety,  and  attention  to  duty,  must  prosper,  and  intemperance 
and  its  corresponding  neglect  must  fail.  When  I  was  in  the 
freight-department  in  New  York,  a  young  man,  C.  E )  Kalb 
Townsend,  was  appointed  to  a  subordinate  position  in  the  same 
place.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  unexceptonable  character,  mid 
soon  gained  the  esteem  and  respect  of  Ids  employers.  lie  and 
I  were  transferred  the  same  day,  —  he  to  take  charge  of  the 
freight-depot  at  Albany,  and  I  at  Boston.  His  course  was  up- 
ward ;  his  promptness  insured  it :  and  he  was  soon  appointed 
head  agent  in  Albany,  then  superintendent  of  the  western  divis- 
ion at  Cleveland,  O.,  and  is  to-day,  as  I  write,  general  frelglit- 
agent  for  the  New-England  States,  for  this  same  company. 
His  office  is  at  No.  1  Court  Street,  corner  of  Washington,  Bos- 
ton. I,  with  advantages  equal  to  his,  if  not  greater,  threw 
them  all  away,  just  for  my  inordinate  desive  for  strong  drink. 
I  could  cite  other  examples  of  this  contrast,  drawn  from  my 
own  experience ;  but  two  will  speak  as  eloquently  as  two  hun- 
dred, for  the  two  hundred  are  but  repetitions  of  the  two. 


f 


STRONG  DliiyK   VEltSUS  BUSINESS.  247 

Strong  drink  and  biiHinoss  cannot  go  together:  one  or  tlio 
othei-  must  be  abandoned.  I  would  implore  all  you  young  men 
who  occupy  any  position  in  the  mercantile  world,  it'  you  aro 
addicted  to  tlio  use  of  stimulants  in  any  shape,  lor  lleaven'a 
sake  abandon  their  use  before  it  is  too  late !  Ninety-nine  out 
of  one  hundred  who  continue  in  the  hnbit  are  ruined,  and  the 
hundredth  one  is  scorched.  Total  abstinence  is  the  only  abso- 
lute safeguard  for  the  success,  happiness,  und  prosperity  of  a 
business-man. 

There  are  many  employers,  who,  tliough  drinking-men  them- 
selves, partaking  occasionally  of  champagne,  or  even  something 
stronger,  will  not  have  any  employees  who  drink.  And 
although  they  act  inconsistently  as  regards  themselves,  and 
unfairly  as  regards  their  clerks,  they  act  wisely  as  regards  their 
own  mercantile  interests.  The  records  show,  that,  in  the  major- 
ity of  cases,  defaulting  clerks  and  dishonest  cashiers  have  been 
"drinking-men." 

There  was  a  wise  old  king  who  he)  J  that  there  was  a  woman 
to  every  piece  of  mischief.  Undoubtedly,  the  old  king's  theory 
had  much  to  support  it:  women  have  done  a  deal  of  evil  as 
well  as  of  good  in  the  world.  But,  really,  wine  lias  done 
more  harm  and  far  less  jood  than  woman. 

Take  the  statistics  of  crime  to-day,  examine  the  figures  in 
any  country  or  city,  and  you  will  find  that  by  far  the  larger 
proportion  of  crimes  are  committed  by  drinking-men.  I 
include  not  only  the  crimes  committed  in  the  heat  of  passion, 
—  murders,  —  etc.,  but  the  cooler  and  more  calculating  cnmes 
of  forgery  and  theft. 

So  that  those  business-men  are  prudent,  who,  even  if  they 
are  not  temperate  men  themselves,  make  it  a  rule  to  employ 
only  temperance  men.  My  only  wonder  now,  looking  back, 
and  writing  about  the  past,  is,  not  that  I  got  along  so  badly 
in  my  early  business-life,  but  that,  under  the  circumstances. 


248  THE  FAMILY  THAT  LID  BRINK. 

with  my  hard  driiikhig-habits,  I  got  along  so  well,  or  got  along 
at  all.  I  would  not  now  employ  such  a  young  man  myself  as 
I  once  was.  I  would  be  afraid  to.  I  would  expect  to  have  my 
business  neglected,  or  my  trust  violated ;  and,  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten,  my  anticipations  would  be  realized. 

Drinking-habits  are  the  worst  possible  habits  for  y^ung  men 
in  business ;  and,  conversely,  temperate,  totally  abstinent,  liab- 
its  are  tl  e  very  best  possible  habits  for  young  business-men. 
Just  as  a  drinkiiig-man  generally  falls,  so  a  non-drinking  man 
generally  rises.  Illustrations  of  this  last  fact  abound  on  every 
side,  —  conspicuous  examples,  like  Peter  Cooper  in  New  York, 
G.  W.  Childs  in  Philadelphia  (the  latter  "  a  newspaper-man," 
by  the  by,  and  a  great  one,  who  has  never  taken  a  drink,  or 
used  tobacco,  in  his  life),  and  literally  hundreds  of  others. 
And  in  humbler,  less  public,  more  ordinary,  life,  the  examples 
of  the  benefits  of  "  temperance  "  in  business  are  numberless. 

I  met,  when  a  very  young  man,  two  families,  became  intimate 
with  them.  They  were  both  poor;  but  the  head  of  the  one 
family  was  a  whiskey-drinker,  and  the  head  of  the  other  family 
had  never  taken  a  drop  of  ardent  spirits  in  his  life. 

The  first  family  was  composed  of  a  father  and  mother  and 
two  sons,  all  able  to  do  8  day's  work  and  earn  a  day's  wages, 
and  save  part.  But  the  father  only  worked  by  fits  and  starts, 
a  week  now  and  then,  a  day  now  and  then,  or  not  at  all :  the 
rest  of  his  non-working  time,  and  all  his  spare  time,  he  passed 
at  taverns. 

His  sons  naturally  followed  his  example,  were  sometimes  to 
be  seen  carousing  with  their  own  father,  and  were  generally  in 
low  company. 

The  wife  and  mother  protested  and  begged  in  vain  :  neither 
husband,  father,  nor  sons  would  heed  her  protests  or  her  prayers ; 
so  at  last  she  lost  heart,  and  took  to  drinking  herself.  At  one 
time  I  have  seen  the  whole  family,  wife  and  husband,  mother 


TUB  FAMILY  THAT  DID  NOT  DlilNK.  249 

and  sons,  drunk  together,  —  the  most  awful  sight  upon  the 
earth. 

The  family  are  all  "  gone  under  "  now.  The  father  died  of 
mania  a  potu;  the  eldest  son  died  a  tramp,  and  in  a  drunken 
brawl ;  the  other  son  is  in  Sing-Sing  prison,  "  doing  time  "  for 
stealing ;  and  tlie  mother  is  over  on  Blackwell's  Island. 

This  was  the  poor  family  that  did  drink. 

The  second  family  consisted  of  a  father,  mother,  and  two 
young  boys,  —  a  family  constituted  like  the  first,  save  that  the 
members  of  the  first  family  were  all  stronger  and  more  robust  in 
their  physical  health,  and  had  therefore  the  decided  advantage. 

But  the  heau  of  this  second  family  worked  day  and  night; 
and  his  wife  and  children  worked  with  him  and  beside  him,  — 
worked  hard  and  steadily,  though  they  had  no  "regular  work," 
so  called.  They  had  no  "  situations :  "  all  they  could  get  to  do 
was,  for  a  long  while,  "  odd  jobs."  But  they  were  always  try- 
ing to  get  what  jobs  they  could,  and  were  always  doing  their 
best  at  any  jobs  they  got. 

At  last  the  father  got  a  place,  —  a  place  in  a  store  where  he 
had  to  woik  hard  for  very  little ;  but  he  did  hits  best  gratefully 
and  zealously.  One  day  a  vacancy  occurred  among  the  boys  in 
the  store :  the  hard-working  father  recommended  his  own  son 
for  the  place  ;  and,  judging  the  son  by  the  father,  the  recommen- 
dation was  accepted.  Then,  a  woman  was  needed  to  look  after 
the  building  as  a  janitress :  and  the  liard-working  husband  rec- 
ommended his  wife  for  the  place ;  judging  the  wife  and  mother 
by  the  husband  and  son,  the  recommendation  was  accepted: 
and  in  a  little  while  a  place  was  found  about  the  establishment 
for  the  remaining  child. 

Fatlier,  mother,  and  children  were  now  all  on  wages  together 
at  one  place.     All  at  work  together,  not  all  drunk  together. 

Work,  like  b^ood,  will  tell.  And  to-day  that  once  poor 
family  are  in  business  for  themselves.    The  mother  keeps  a 


250  "  GOING  DOWN." 

trimming-store,  doing  a  lively  trade,  with  her  youngest  son  as 
her  industrious  clerk  and  honest  cashier;  the  father  is  in  a 
shipping-house  down  town,  getting  a  fair  salary,  and  enjoying 
the  esteem  of  his  employers ;  and  the  eldest  son  is  in  the  office 
of  the  Erie  Railroad,  a  rising  young  man. 

And  this  is  the  once  poor  family  that  did  not,  and  does  not, 
and  never  will,  drink.  I  have  known  cases  in  which  the  greatest 
advantages  have  been  neutralized  solely  by  drink :  and  I  have 
known  cases  in  which  the  solitary  advantage  possessed  was,  that 
the  party  did  not  drink.  And  yet  this  one  last  solitary  point 
in  his  favor  has  brought  many  a  man  to  competency  and  peace, 
while  all  the  points  in  favor  of  the  others  have  been  brought 
to  naught  by  rum. 

In  my  own  immediate  circle  of  acquaintances,  I  have  known 
a  man  who,  while  keeping  a  large  family  solely  on  his  small 
earnings  as  a  clerk  in  a  lace-store,  with  no  prospects  in  life 
ahead  worth  speaking  of,  yet  found,  or  rrther  made,  time  to 
start  a  little  business  of  his  ownj  his  wife  making  neckties, 
and  the  children  going  round  peddling  them.  From  the  re- 
ceipts of  this  little  extra  business,  he  managed  to  accumulate 
a  little  money,  which,  prudently  invested,  became  the  founda- 
tion of  a  fortune.  But,  if  he  had  been  a  drinking-man,  he 
would  never  have  had  either  the  energy,  or  the  time,  or  the 
means,  to  start  this  little  outside  business,  which  ultimately 
proved  his  salvation.  It  was  because  he  did  not  waste  his  time 
and  money  in  drink,  that  he  had  time  to  think  out,  and  the 
wherewithal  to  start,  this  blessed  little  business.  And  his  case 
is  but  one  of  tliousands. 

But  I  heeded  not.  I  kept  on  with  my  idleness  and  my  waste, 
my  self-indulgence  and  my  intemperance,  till  my  means  were 
almost  exhausted,  and  my  health  almost  shattered,  going  delib- 
erately down,  and  yet  hoping  recklessly  that  something  would 
"turn  up." 


"  TUB.YINO   UP."  251 

And  something  did  "turn  up."  "The  unexpected  always 
happens,"  says  the  French  proverb  ;  and  an  utterly  unexpected 
and  undeserved  piece  of  good  fortune  now  fell  to  my  lot.  I 
met  an  old  acquaintance  who  had  in  former  days  been  very 
friendb  to  me,  and  who  was  now  in  the  possession  of  ample 
fneans.  In  the  most  generous  manner  this  true  friend  loaned 
me  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  thus  enabled  me,  spite  of  my 
worthlessness  and  dissipation,  to  reali::e  all  the  material  advan- 
tages of  industry  and  sobriety.  Dear  friend,  he  was  actuated 
only  by  the  most  generous  impulses,  and  by  the  most  sincere 
desire  for  my  success.  But  I  was  in  such  a  state,  and  had 
gradually  acquired  such  a  character,  or,  rather,  lack  of  charac- 
ter, that  his  kindness  now  did  me  far  more  harm  than  good, 
as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  course  of  my  next  chapter. 

My  doom  was  sealed.  I  only  wonder  that  it  was  not  sealed 
for  eternity. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  81LLT  AND  SINFUL  VOW  REALIZED.  — I  BECOME  A  BUM-SELLER.  —  "THE 
merchants'  union  cigar-store  and  sample-room."  —  I  DISPENSS 
POISON  TO  MEN  AND  BOYS.  —  SELLING  LICjUOR  TO  MINORS.  —  "POOL  FOB 
DRINKS." 

The  reader  has  not  forgotten,  that  one  wretched  night  in 
Montreal,  in  my  rum-heated  misery  and  madness,  I  had  cher- 
ished the  vision  of  one  day  keeping  a  saloon,  —  a  rum-shop,  — 
of  my  own.  Years  had  passed  since  then.  I  had  forgotten 
many  things  worth  remembering ;  but  I  distinctly  remembered 
that  vision,  and  the  vow  I  had  registered  with  myself  to  realize 
it  whenever  possible.  And  now  the  opportunity  was  presented 
to  me  to  realize  my  fearful  dream,  to  keep  my  terribly  silly  and 
sinful  vow.  I  was  the  possessor  of  quite  a  large  sum  of  money 
in  cash.  It  was  mine  to  do  with  it  as  I  pleased ;  and  the 
depravity  in  which  I  was  now  steeped  cannot  be  more  clearly 
stated  than  when  I  say  that  my  first  and  only  thought  about 
this  money  was  to  start  a  rum-shop  with  it.  Had  I  thrown  the 
money  into  the  street,  it  would  have  been  better  for  the  world 
and  me.  That  young  man  must  be  far  advanced  on  the  road 
to  perdition  whose  only  plan  on  receiving  unexpectedly  a  large 
sum  of  money  is  to  use  it  all  to  start  a  "  bar-room." 

But  I  hastened  to  put  my  plan  into  execution.  I  was  im- 
patient to  behold  my  gilded  palace  of  iniquity.  I  was  eager 
to  see  myself  as  the  proprietor  —  not  the  mere  bar-tender,  but 
the  proprietor  —  of  a  drinking-saloon. 

Strange  perversity.  Just  as  the  student  is  anxious  to  clutch 
his  diploma,  just  as  the  philosopher  is  eager  to  solve  his  prob- 


MY  CIGAR- STORE  AND  RUM-SUOP.  268 

lem,  just  as  the  philanthropist  is  longing  to  relieve  the  suffer- 
ings of  huMianity,  so  I,  a  young  man,  fairly  educated,  carefully 
reared,  I  he  child  of  many  prayers,  the  youth  of  many  opportu- 
nities, the  young  man  now  of  liberal  means,  was  anxious, 
eager,  longing,  to  open  and  control  a  place  devoted  to  the 
destruction  of  myself  and  others.  And  all  this  came  of  my 
amateur  bar-tending  in  that  saloon  in  Montreal.  And  all  this 
sprung  from  a  vision  that  had  flashed  across  me  that  night 
in  which  I  staid  out  in  the  street,  a  drunken  tramp.  How 
momentous  are  the  little  things  of  life!  The  seed  had  ger- 
minated, and  its  fruit  was  to  be  bitter. 

I  made  the  necessary  arrangements  for  opening  my  contem- 
plated saloon,  with  an  energy  and  industr}-  worthy  of  a  better 
object ;  and  in  a  little  time  I  was  before  the  public,  in  the  good 
old  city  of  Boston,  as  the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  showiest 
bar-rooms  (and  cigar-rooms  combined)  in  that  city.  I  fitted 
up  the  shop  No.  628  (old  number)  Washington  Street,  oppo- 
site Common  Street,  with  taste  and  liberality,  and  rendered  it 
attractive,  —  greatly  too  attractive  for  many.  Glowing  signs, 
like  banners,  were  suspended  from  "the  outer  walls,"  And 
my  place  was  named  "  The  Merchants'  Union  Cigar-Store  and 
Sample-Room."  The  name  was  bestowed  out  of  compliment 
to  an  express-company  with  which  I  had  had  dealings,  and  the 
compliment  was  reciprocated  by  liberal  patronage.  Shakspeare 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  there  is  something  in  a  name. 

The  idea  of  combining  the  two  evils,  a  cigar-store  and  a  rum- 
shop,  tobacco  and  whiskey,  under  one  roof,  in  one  establish- 
ment, each  poison  having,  however,  its  own  distinct  and 
separate  place,  was  then  a  novel  one  in  Boston.  And  I  took 
quite  a  pride  in  having  been  one  of  the  first  to  introduce  this 
original  novelty,  this  combination  of  two  evils,  either  one  of 
which  was,  sooner  or  later,  certain  death.  It  is  astonishing 
what  human  beings  can  be  proud  of. 


254  I  BECOME  A    "  SPIDER." 

Yes,  I  had  two  dens  of  gilded  vice  now  under  my  sole 
control,  —  a  cigar-store  in  fronl  and  a  bar-room  in  the  rear; 
and  many  were  the  victims  enticctl  therein. 

"  '  Won't  you  walk  into  my  parlor  ? ' 

Said  the  spider  to  the  fly. 
'  'Tis  the  prettiest  lit  tie  parlor 

That  ever  you  did  spy.'  " 

And  it  really  was  a  very  pretty  little  parlor,  or,  rather,  two 
pretty  little  parlors,  if  I,  the  spider,  have  to  say  it  for  myself. 
The  cigar-store  in  front,  in  full  view  of  the  crowded  street, 
was  a  very  tempting,  cosey  sort  of  a  place,  and  looked  innocent 
enough.  All  the  appointments  were  really,  as  the  advertise- 
ments say,  "first-class."  Any  gentleman  might  walk  in,  and 
survey  the  little  cigar-store  with  pleasure.  And  then,  just  the 
other  side  of  the  neat  little  cigar-store  was  a  still  neater  and 
handsomer  bar-room,  less  exposed  to  public  observation,  —  so 
cosey,  so  private ;  just  the  thing  for  a  bar-room,  and  so  genteel, 
—  so  very  genteel,  you  know. 

Ay,  a  genteel  charnel-house ;  ay,  a  very  cosey  and  comfort- 
able "hell." 

I  had  fairly  now,  and  of  my  own  free  will,  entered  upon  the 
occupation  of  a  mercantile  murderer,  a  licensed  poisoner,  a 
dealer  in  liquid  death;  and  I  gloried  in  the  occupation.  Like 
the  arch  fiend,  my  master,  I  had  said,  "  Evil,  be  thou  my  good." 

I  was  steeped  in  iniquity.  And  nothing  about  hiiman  nature 
is  more  terrible  than  the  facility  with  which  men,  once  launched 
on  an  evil  course,  learn  to  make  a  boast  of  that  which  is  their 
disgrace,  a  glory  of  that  which  is  their  shame. 

The  man  who  blushes  at  himself,  and  shrinks  from  humanit)', 
having  committed  his  first  theft,  glows  with  exultation  as  he 
narrates  to  his  "pals"  in  some  "boozing  ken"  the  cunning 
with  which  he  has  just  accomplished  his  one  hundredth.  The 
Italian  bravo  in  the  story,  who  felt  like  Cain  with  the  curse 


now  SATAN  LOVED  HE  I  266 

as  he  staggc'ed  from  the  scene  of  his  first  crime,  felt  like  a 
hero,  and  was  as  proud  as  an  Alexander,  when,  after  a  long 
series  of  crimes,  he  was  appointed  the  head  of  a  band  of  Jiired 
assassins. 

And  so  I,  Thomas  N.  -Dontney,  who  had  once  been  a  mem- 
ber of  a  truly  Christian  family,  who  had  at  another  period  of 
ray  life  been  the  recipient  of  the  greatest  favors  from  a  Chris- 
tian and  temperate  family,  who  had  felt  and  realized  in  my 
own  experience  the  curse  of  rum,  and  had  time  and  time  again 
bitterly  reviled  myself  for  my  intemperance,  was  now  deliber- 
ately engaged  in  enticing  men  and  boys  to  purchase  of  me 
their  destruction.  Ay,  and  I  absolutely  enjoyed  my  devilish 
work. 

I  have  just  used  the  expression  "  men  and  boys,"  for  I  sold 
to  growing  boys  as  well  as  to  grown  men.  It  was  not  enough 
for  me  to  ruin  the  husbands  and  fathers,  I  must  demoralize  the 
youth.  How  Satan  mus*  have  loved  me  (query,  can  the  Devil 
be  ever  said  to  "love,"  even  his  own?)  in  those  days! 

Under  cover  of  my  innocent-looking  cigar-stand  in  the  front, 
the  boy  devotees  to  Bacchus,  the  juvenile  slaves'  of  drink, 
would  stealthily  glide  in,  as  if  half  afraid  that  their  employers 
or  their  parents  might  see  them  and  discharge  them,  or  stop 
their  pocket-change.  And,  when  once  inside,  the  sample-room 
was  invariably  the  chief  resort  and  prime  attraction.  My 
drinking-hell,  or  parlor,  the  same  thing,  was  really  very  pleasing 
to  the  eye :  my  furniture,  glass-ware,  etc.,  were  of  the  best, 
and  quite  cleverly  arranged,  so  as  to  produce  a  desirable  effect. 
It  looked  just  like  what  it  was,  the  very  place  to  drink  in. 

Here  in  this  gilded  den,  here  in  this  drinking  "  hell "  of  a 
"parlor,"  many  an  unfortunate  young  man,  withoxit  a  doubt, 
has,  through  my  instrumentality,  drained  his  first  glass,  and 
started,  as  I  had  started  before  hi'n,  on  the  downward  path 
whose  termination  was  perdition. 


256  A   SAMPLE-BOOM  BY  DAY  AND  NWnT. 

Here  in  tliia  "cosey"  "Bample-room  "  of  mine,  in  the  strange 
democracy  of  drink,  the  rich  customer  and  the  poor  have  met 
on  the  common  level  of  appetite;  and  the  comparatively  intelli- 
gent man  and  the  positive  fool  have  been  each  as  wise  —  and 
foolish  —  as  the  other. 

Many  a  man  has  wasted  his  day  in  my  place,  passing  the 
long,  briglit  hours,  afforded  him  by  a  bountiful  Providence 
for  honest  work,  in  senseless  dissipation,  tJie  only  effect  of 
which  was  to  transfer  slowly  but  surely  his  money  from  his 
pocket  into  mine.  Many  a  man  has  been  led  by  me,  and  the 
influences  of  my  place,  to  literally  rob  his  wife  and  family, — 
rob  them  of  his  time,  his  strength,  and  their  support.  Many 
a  boy  has  been  induced  to  "  drop  in  "  my  saloon  when  he 
should  have  been  doing  his  work,  and  has  been  compelled/  to 
lie,  and  to  deceive  his  employers  afterwards,  to  cover  up  his 
folly.  Many  a  lad,  at  my  twin  dens  of  vice,  has  contracted 
habits  of  self-indulgence  and  indolence,  which,  once  contracted, 
cursed  him  and  cursed  his  till  his  dying  day. 

And,  bad  as  my  place  was  by  day,  it  was  worse  by  night. 
Objectionable  as  it  was  under  the  sunlight,  it  was  positively 
villanous  "  under  the  gaslight."  For  when  the  stars  began  to 
"blossom  in  the  infinite  meadows  of  heaven,  those  forget-me- 
nots  of  the  angels,"  I  on  earth  began  to  light  my  gas-jets,  and 
fix  my  fire,  and  burnish  up  things,  and  make  my  hell  as  heav- 
enly as  possible.  All  the  arts  which  a  loving  woman  uses  to 
adorn  her  home,  to  render  her  fireside  the  most  attractive  of  all 
spots  to  those  she  loves,  —  all  these  little  arts  and  cares  I,  a  full- 
grown  man,  used  to  render  my  drinking-den  attractive  to  the 
men  and  boys  I  did  not  love,  but  only  intended  to  use  and  ruin. 

And  I  succeeded  with  my  drinking-den  a  good  deal  better 
than  many  a  loving  woman  succeeds  with  her  home.  My  place 
became  "  popular ; "  that  is  to  say,  in  plain  English  it  was  a 
curse  to  the  neighborhood. 


"  OL!  my  den  was  very  '  gay '  at  night "  [p.  267]. 


now  I  BECAME  A  DEVIL.  267 

T  ought  to  have  been  suppressed  as  a  public  pest;  but  I  wns 
hailed  as  "a  hail  follow  well  met,"  a  "good  fellov/."  The 
women  ought  to  have  banded  together,  and  "drunuuod  mo 
oat "  of  town.  The  men  ought  to  have  "  tarred  and  feathered  " 
me,  and  "  ridden  nie  on  a  rail."  The  children  ought  to  have 
hooted  me,  and  pelted  me  with  stones.  Hut,  instead  of  this,  I 
was  shaken  hands  with  by  men,  and  I  was  patronized  by  boys, 
and  even,  as  I  will  dwell  more  upon  later,  by  women  themselves. 

Many  a  nuin  has  lost  his  money  and  his  evening»  at  my  den. 
Many  a  man  has  lost  his  opportunities  for  domestic  recreation, 
and  lost  his  health  and  sleep,  at  my  place.  Many  a  man  hiw 
deserted  his  wife  and  children  for  the  unhallowed  attractions  of 
my  cursed  saloon. 

Many  a  sister  and  daughter  has  been  deprived  of  iiie  cher- 
ished companionship  of  a  brother  and  a  father  by  me  and  my 
den.  Many  a  fond  mother  has  been  robbed  of  the  company  of 
her  beloved  son  by  me  and  my  vile  place.  Many  a  weeping 
wife  has  sat  lonely  at  nights,  waiting  for  a  husband's  return, 
whom  yet  she  dreaded  to  see  returning,  on  account  of  my 
damned  saloon. 

I  use  strong  language,  but  not  stronger  than  my  case  and 
my  place  and  myself  deserved.  I  see  what  I  was  tJien,  and 
I  do  hesitate  to  say  so  now.  Were  I  to  live  a  thousand  years,  I 
could  not  fully  atone  for  the  evil  I  caused  in  those  few  months  at 
"The  Merchants'  Union  Cigar-Store  and  Sample-Room,"  No.  G28 
(old  number)  Washington  Street,  opposite  Common  Street,  Bos  ■ 
ton.  These  confessions,  these  self-condemnations,  are  but  a  small 
portion  of  my  punishment,  my  repentance,  and,  I  humbly  and 
fervently  trust,  my  expiation.  Oh!  my  den  was  very  "gay" 
at  nights.  The  sounds  of  revelry  were  heard  within  ;  and  the 
young  bloods,  just  starting  on  their  career,  jostled  against  the 
poor,  hard-shaking  inebriate,  who  had  staggered  in  for  a  soothing- 
dram.    All  classes  and  conditions  of  society  were  my  patrons. 


258  THE  EVIL  I  HAVE  DONE. 

Many  n  8trong  man,  rejoicing  in  IiiM  Htrcngth,  drained  his  gloHH, 
who  has  Bince  sunk  bentuith  "tho  fire-water"  I  and  others  sold 
him,  into  a  drunkard'u  grave.  Many  an  old  man,  rendered  pre- 
maturely aged  by  the  use  of  Htimulants,  hobbled  up  to  my  bar, 
ond  with  trembling  arms  "  crooked  his  elbow  "  for  hid  tem- 
porary gratification  and  my  pecuniary  gain. 

Ah!  I  wcuild  not  like  to  know  the  fate  of  all  those  who  used 
to  visit  mo.  I  would  not  like  to  hear  the  groans  that  their  falls 
and  my  greed  have  caused.  I  would  not  like  to  see  the  tears 
that  I  have  caused  my  victims  to  shed,  —  the  bitter  but  umivail- 
ing  tears.  I  write  this  sorrowfully  and  truthfully,  but  I  felt 
nothing  of  the  kind  when  I  was  selling  rum.  For  then  I  was 
oidy  a  rum-seller,  only  u  bar-keeper  and  a  bar-tender;  and  such 
gentlemen  should  have  no  feelings.  For,  in  order  to  conduct 
their  business  in  a  proper  manner,  they  should  be  utterly  obliv- 
ious to  the  sufferings  of  their  victims. 

All  night  long  I  kept  my  place  going,  —  all  through  the 
night,  until  the  break  of  day  sometimes,  if  my  custom  war- 
ranted it,  and  my  customers  wished  it.  For  although  I  pro- 
fessed to  be  "  law-abiding  "  and  respectable,  and  although  the 
law  closed  all  drinking-places  at  midnight,  I  found  means  to 
evade  that  or  any  other  law,  human  or  divine,  which  inter- 
fered with  my  interests  or  convenience. 

In  big  cities  a  little  money,  properly  distributed,  can  do  a 
great  deal.  And  there  are  few  things  that  a  li(iuor-dealer  can- 
not do  with  the  police.  He  can  evade  any  law  he  pleases  if  he 
is  willing  to  pay  for  the  evading.  It  is  so  in  Boston  and  New 
York,  and  I  have  yet  to  hear  from  any  city  where  it  is  not  so. 
The  early-closing  law  had  no  terrors  for  me,  neither  had  the 
law  against  selling  liquor  to  minors.  I  sold  rum  to  a  boy  just 
on  the  same  terms  as  I  sold  rum  to  a  man,  —  good  money  for 
had  liquor.  Son  or  father  were  all  one  fool,  one  tool,  one 
■customer,  one  victim,  to  me.     Like  death,  that  death-dealer. 


TUE  BUV-SELLER  AND   THE  SEDUCER.  269 

the  rum-8ellcr,  is  no  respecter  of  poisons.  In  this  point,  and 
tliis  only,  the  liquor-deuler  resemhk'H  tlio  Almiglity. 

Here  I  wouhl  pause  to  Holemnly  protest  ugiiinHt  the  hixlty  of 
the  udiiiiiiistratioii  of  the  hiw  in  rufurunuo  to  thin  HcUing  li(iuor 
to  niinorH.  (Jod  Itnows  it  is  bivd  enough  to  sell  liquor  to  full- 
grown  men,  but  it  in  simply  infcrmil  to  Hell  it  to  children.  I 
feel  now  what  I  deserved  myself,  at  this  fearful  period  of  my 
life,  for  doing  this  fearful  thing;  and  I  know  now  what  men,  or 
fiends,  merit  who  persist  in  committing  this  atrocity.      ^  •     • 

What  would  be  thought  of,  said  of,  and  done  to,  tho  druggist 
who  would  sell  arsenio  or  prushic  acid  to  every  child  who 
liapv)ened  to  have  ten  cents?  What,  then,  shall  be  thought  of, 
said  of,  and  done  to,  the  rum-dealer  who  sells  what  is  worse 
than  any  poison  in  the  pharmacopoeia,  because  more  delightful, 
while  e(iually  dangerous,  to  every  and  any  boy  who  asks  for  it? 
Nothing  —  positively  nothing  —  can  ever  justify  revenge  or 
violence ;  but  I  sometimes  think  that  a  father  would  be  as 
excusable  in  wreak'ng  his  vengeance  on  a  man  who  sold  his 
son  rum  as  on  the  man  who  betrayed  his  daughter's  honor.  In 
both  cases  it  is  the  object  of  the  bad  man  to  ruin  the  child. 
Only  in  the  one  case  it  is  an  object  of  passion ;  in  the  other 
case,  of  sheer  calculation,  and  deliberate  greed  of  gain.  From 
this  aspect  of  the  case,  is  not  the  rum-seller  viler  than  even  the 
seducer?  ,^'  . 

Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  I  would  not  be  wilfully  un- 
just. I  would  not  exaggerate.  I  am  fully  aware  that  this  sell- 
ing liquor  to  minors  is  not,  happily,  a  "universal "  custom  among 
rum-sellers.  There  are  not  a  few  liquor-dealers  who  would 
scorn  to  defy  alike  nature,  law,  and  decency  by  selling  rum  to 
children.  The  larger  saloons  in  our  great  cities  do  not  permit 
this  cursed  custom.  Even  some  of  the  better  class,  if  there 
is  such  a  class,  of  "  dance-houses,"  do  not  sanction  this  atrocity. 
Thus,  at  Harry  Hill's  "  dive  "  a  conspicuous  sign  is  posted  on 


260  POOL  FOR  DRINKS. 

the  walls,  —  "No  chiklreu  allowed  here."  " Positively  no  liquor 
sold  to  boys ; "  and  the  spirit  of  those  signs  is  carried  out  to  the 
letter.  But  then,  I  am  also  thoroughly  aware  that  these  cases 
are  exceptional,  and  that,  take  the  country  through,  ninety 
diinking-saloons  out  of  one  hundred  are  not  "  particular  "  as  to 
the  age  of  t':eir  customers ;  or,  as  a  liquor-dealer  once  phrased 
it, "  Business  looks  to  a  customer's  dollars,  not  his  years."  Per- 
liaps  the  liquor-dealer  was  correct  in  his  remark  about  business. 
But  how  about  that  Judge  before  whom  even  "a  business" 
rum-seller  must  stand  sooner  or  later  ? 

And  I  cannot  too  loudly,  sternly,  bitterly  reprobate  the 
utterly  damnable  custom  of  "  pool  for  drinks  "  which  prevails. 
Surely  Satan  must  have  held  high  carnival  in  hell  when  this 
custom  was  originally  introduced  on  earth.  To  the  credit  of 
the  press  of  America,  especially  the  paper  called  "Truth," 
when  controlled  by  Mr.  Josh  Hart,  be  it  said,  that  "  pool  for 
drinks  "  has  been  persistently  denounced  by  the  public  press. 
But  based,  as  it  is,  upon  depraved  appetites,  appealing,  as  it 
does,  to  the  lowest,  and  therefore  most  generally  diffused,  attri- 
butes of  humanity,  this  "institution"  is  not  dependent  upon 
the  approval,  is,  in  fact,  quite  independent  of  the  f?mpproval, 
of  the  public  press.  What  do  the  boys  who  "  pool  for  drinks  " 
care  for  "  what  the  papers  say  "  ?  Most  of  them,  perhaps,  could 
not  "  read  "  the  papers  if  they  tried. 

There  is  but  one  way  of  dealing  with  this  much-denounced 
but  growing  evil.  "  Pool  for  di'inks  "  should  be  a  penal  offence, 
and  the  penalty  should  be  rigidly  enforced.  Every  decent  citi- 
zen sliould  see  that  the  offenders  should  be  prosecuted,  and 
punished  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law. 

I  never  see  the  sign  "  Pool  for  Drinks  "  in  a  bar-room  but  I 
shudder.  The  letters  become  confused  before  my  eyes;  and 
I  see  in  blood-red  characters,  "  Gates  of  Hell  "  instead  of  "  Pool 
for  Drinks."  ?     : 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BELUNG  LIQUOR  TO  WOMEN.  —  FEMININE  INTEMPEBANOE.  —  THE  GBOWING 
FONDNESS  FOB  STRONG  DRINK  AMONG  FEMALES. — TUE  TEMPTATIONS  OF 
WOMEN  TO  INTEMPERANCE.  —  PUBLIC  AND  PRIVATE  BALLS  AND  PAR- 
TIES.—THE  SUPPER  AFTER  THE  THEATRE,  THE  FASHIONABLE  RESTAU- 
RANT, THE  EXCURSION,  ETC.  —  THE  ABUSES  OF  DRUG-STORES  EXPOSED. 
TUB  THREEFOLD  HORROR  OF  INTEMPERANCE  IN  W^>M£N. 

r- 

There  is  another  evil  which  is  quite  as  pernicious  as  the 
love  for  drinks,  or  the  selling  of  liquors  to  minors,  —  an  evil 
which  cannot  be  directly  forbidden  by  law,  and  yet  which 
should  be  forbidden  by  every  man's  very  instincts  and  his 
human  nature.    I  allude  to  the  selling  of  liquor  to  females. 

True,  I  sold  liquor  to  females  myself.  To  my  shame  I  re- 
cord it.  But  I  have  bitterly  repented ;  and  I  would  not  offer 
a  glass  of  liquor  to  a  woman  now,  not  for  my  life.  Nay,  I 
would  rather  offer  her  my  life  itself.  The  latter  might  possibly 
do  her  some  good  :  the  liquor  could  not. 

But  though  I,  thank  God !  no  longer  sell  liquor  to  women, 
there  are  hundreds  of  liquor-dealers  who  do  sell  it  to  women  as 
to  men ;  and  there  are,  alas !  thousands  of  women  who  buy  and 
drink  liquor  just  like  men. 

The  increasing  number  of  women  who  drink,  moderately  or 
immoderately,  privately  and  publicly,  is  one  of  the  signs,  and 
one  of  the  very  worst  signs,  of  the  times.  It  is  a  sign  of  the 
times  which  cannot  be  ignored  by  the  thinker  and  observer, 
nor  passed  over  by  the  moralist.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  not  only 
that  women  drink,  but  that  women  of  all  classes  and  condi- 
tions drink ;  not  only  the  lowest  class,  but  the  highest  class ; 

^261 


262  THE  ''FAMILY  EN^'IiANCE." 

and,  worst  of  all,  that  most  numerous  class  of  all,  the  middle 
class. 

The  woman  of  "  society  "  drinks  her  champagne ;  the  woman 
not  in  "  society "  drinks  her  brandy ;  and  the  "  respectable 
married  (or  single)  woman"  drhiks  her  beer;  the  fashionable 
lady  drinks  at  her  receptions,  parties,  and  balls ;  the  adventuress 
or  Traviata  drinks  freely  at  home  or  abroad,  in  the  parlor,  the 
wine-room,  or  the  restaurant;  while  the  women  of  the  middle 
class  drink  in  their  "  beer-gardens,"  or  in  those  "  family-rooms," 
so-called,  which  are  now  connected  with  the  "  side-door " 
arrangements  of  so  many  drinking-saloons. 

Time  was  when  none  but  the  most  depraved  of  the  female 
sex  would  be  seen  entering  a  "  saloon,"  either  by  the  main  or  by 
"the  side"  doors;  but  now,  through  those  "family-room" 
dodges,  "decent"  women,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term, 
enter  a  saloon  with  their  male  escorts,  and  on  the  same  terms. 

The  other  night  at  an  entertainment  I  noticed  a  party  of 
three,  —  a  handsome  woman,  an  elderly  lady,  and  tlieir  young 
male  escort,  a  youth  not  over  seventeen  years  of  age  at  the 
oldest,  —  who  attracted  my  attention  by  their  good  looks,  and 
apparent  gentility  of  deportment.  But  what  was  my  surprise, 
when  the  entertainment  was  over,  to  see  the  party  enter  a 
drinking-saloon  around  the  corner,  through  a  side-door,  over 
which  was  inscribed  the  words  "  family  entrance."  I  know  the 
place  the  party  entered  to  be  simply  and  solely  "  a  rum-shop ; " 
and  yet  these  three  respectable  people,  two  ladies  and  a  youth, 
had  entered  it,  —  ay,  and  remained  in  it  some  time,  —  so  long 
that  I  was  curious  to  know  exactly  what  they  were  doing. 

I  opened  the  door  of  the  "  family  entrance,"  and  looked  in. 
There  were  seated  the  party  of  three  at  a  table,  a  thin  partition 
only  separating  them  from  the  crowd  of  drinkers  round  the 
adjoining  bar ;  and  on  the  table  were  placed  two  glasses  of  beer 
and  one  bottle  of  spirits.     The  little  "den,"  or  "parlor,"  or 


"They  were  seated  — the  party  of  them  — at  a  table,  a  thin  partition  only 
separating  them  from  the  crowd  of  drunkards  "  [p.  2()L']. 


A  SIGN  — BUT  OF  WHAT?  268 

"family-room,"  or  whatever  it  was,  in  which  the  party  sat,  was 
neat,  and  scrupulously  clean.  I  will  say  that  much  for  it.  The 
table,  too,  was  large,  and  ratlier  elegant ;  the  chairs  were  solid 
and  comfortable  ;  and  there  was  a  neat  engraving  suspended  on 
the  wall.  It  would  have  been  quite  a  comfortable  little  room 
in  the  "  home  "  of  a  "  family ; "  but  here,  as  an  attachment,  a 
supplement,  to  a  bar-room,  it  looked  as  much  out  of  place  as 
these  two  ladies  and  this  youth  looked  out  of  place  in  it. 

This  was  one  of  the  more  elegant  of  the  "  family  entrances  " 
connected  with  the  bar-rooms  of  the  day ;  but,  in  the  great 
majority  of  instances,  these  "  family  entrances  "  merely  consist 
of  a  board  partition  and  a  movable  slide,  through  which  the 
woman  hands  the  bar-keeper  her  money,  and  receives  in  exchange 
her  liquor,  —  a  fine  position  for  a  woman,  a  sister,  daughter, 
sweetheart,  wife,  or  mother,  truly  ! 

It  has  been  claimed  that  these  "  family  entrances  "  to  "  bar- 
rooms" are  signs  that  the  "bar-rooms"  are  becoming  more 
decent.  On  the  contrary,  I  hold  that  they  are  signs  that  the 
"family  "  of  to-day  is  becoming  less  decent,  because  more  inclined 
to  bar-rooms  and  intemperance.  You  cannot  touch  pitch  without 
being  defiled.  If  a  clean  palm  handles  dirt,  the  purity  of  the 
palm  does  not  communicate  itself  to  the  filth ;  but  the  foulness 
of  the  dirt  communicates  itself  to,  and  soils,  the  palm.  It  may 
be  unfortunate  that  it  is  so,  but  it  is  the  fact.  As  Bob  Ingersoll 
remarks,  "  Health  is  not  catching,  but  disease  is."  Ingersoll,  it 
is  true,  protests  indignantly  against  this  fact  (in  which  protest 
I  think  he  is  unwise,  as  a  little  calm  reflection  will  show)  ;  but 
even  Ingersoll  admits  the  fact  that  "  the  bar-room  "  can  never 
be  improved  by  "family"  influences.  But  the  "family"  can 
easily  be  ruined  by  a  "bar-room  "  and  its  "  family  entrance." 

The  female  intemperance  of  the  time  is  one  of  the  great  evils 
of  the  time.  It  is  manifested  everywhere.  It  is  exhibited  on 
holidays  and  at  public  and  private  festivals.    The  Jewess  quaffs 


264  "LADIES"  AT  A   "BALL." 

her  wino  at  Purim,  and  the  Christian  maiden  quaffs  her  wine 
at  Christmas,  and  they  botli  quaff  tlieir  wine  together  on  the 
New- Year's  Day.  In  regard  to  the  New- Year's  lioliday,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  there  has  been  some  marked  improvement. 
Time  has  been  when,  throughout  the  country  more  or  less,  but  in 
New- York  City  especially.  New- Year's  Day  was  a  carnival  of  in- 
temperance, initiated  by  the  ladies ;  a  saturnalia,  in  which  women 
led  the  way  to  intoxication.  But  there  has  been  a  great  reform 
in  this  direction ;  and  now  New- Year's  Day  is  observed  in  a  com- 
paratively temperate  and  decorous  manner,  showing  conclusively 
the  power  of  public  opinion  when  properly  directed.  But, 
though  New-Year's  Day  observances  are  growing  better,  our 
balls  and  parties,  public  and  private,  are  growing  worse.  I  have 
already  alluded  to  public  balls  in  connection  with  the  news- 
paper-men who  attend  them  professionally.  The  number  and 
the  quality  of  the  women  who  yield  more  or  less  to  intemperance 
at  these  balls  are  strikingly  suggestive.  The  wine-rooms,  so- 
called,  at  these  balls,  are  always  filled  with  females,  drinking, 
and  generally,  I  must  say,  drinking  freely,  with  tlieir  male 
escorts,  and  not  a  few  of  the  women  belonging  to  the  class 
designated  as  "  ladies,"  —  ladies  by  birth,  education,  and  position, 
and  yet  yielding  to  intemperance  in  their  own  persons,  and  set- 
ting an  example  of  intemperance  to  others. 

A  young  lady  last  winter  had,  literally,  to  be  carried  to  her 
carriage  from  the  Academy  of  Music,.  New  York,  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Two  gentlemen  and  a  policeman  carried 
her.     She  was  said  to  be  "  sick,"  but  she  was  really  "  drunk." 

A  half  an  hour  or  so  later  two  ladies  (?)  reeled  —  they  could 
not  be  said  to  "  walk"  —  from  the  Academy ;  and,  in  attempting 
to  descend  the  steps  that  led  to  the  sidewalk,  one  of  the  young 
ladies  (?),  while  boisterously  laughing,  tumbled  down  the  steps, 
and  seriously  injured  herself  internally,  and  has  since  been 
confined  to  her  elegant  home,  an  invalid. 


"FASHIONABLE"  BALLS.        '  266 

These  women  were  the  daughters,  sisters,  etc.,  wlio  figure  in 
♦'  good  society ; "  and  I  know  of  a  cast  in  which  one  young 
man  absolutely  came,  in  the  lobby  of  the  Academy  of  Music, 
face  to  face,  at  a  masked  ball,  with  his  own  mother  drunk. 

Mind  yOu,  these  balls  were  not  the  balls  called  "fast,"  or 
considered  "disreputable."  They  were  given  under  the  pat- 
ronage of  well-known  and  popular  societies.  Tliey  were  not 
held  at  some  east-side  h:.ll,  but  in  the  very  home  of  opera; 
and  the  females  to  whom  I  have  alluded  were  not  Caniilles, 
so  styled,  Traviatas,  or  "unfortunates."  No:  they  were  the 
fortunate  ones  of  this  world,  the  lilies  of  the  fashionable  field, 
who  were  compelled  neither  to  toil  nor  to  spin ;  and  yet  they 
were  public  drunkards. 

Believe  me,  I  do  not  exaggerate.  I  ztwcZerstate,  not  overstate, 
the  case.  A  friend  of  mine,  who  has  for  years  made  a  specialty 
of  pen-painting  the  great  public  balls  for  "  The  New- York 
Sunday  Mercury,"  one  of  the  leading  journals  of  its  class,  iu 
which  my  friend's  ball-reports  have  been  a  leading  feature, 
assures  me  that  he  has,  in  the  course  of  his  fifteen  years  of  ball- 
going,  seen  the  female  members  of  many  of  the  so-called  and 
self-styled  "  best  families  "  in  the  metropolis  more  or  less  (and 
generally  more)  under  the  influence  of  liquor  at  balls. 

And,  if  these  things  are  done  in  the  green  tree,  what  Uiust  be 
done  in  the  dry?  If  public  intemperance  prevails  among  the 
women  of  "society,"  what  is  to  be  looked  for  in  women  who 
are  not  restrained  by  social  obligations  ? 

At  private  parties,  balls,  and  receptions  a  higher  degree  of 
decorum  prevails  naturally  than  holds  in  public  entertainments. 
But  "  drinking-habits "  unfortunately  pervade  the  whole  fabric 
of  society ;  and  the  wine-cup  is  as  accessible,  and,  alas !  as 
agreeable,  to  a  woman  in  the  houses  of  her  friends,  or  at  her 
own  home,  as  in  the  Academy  of  Music  on  a  ball-night. 

A  lady  of  the  highest  social  position  in  this  country  (the 


266  .        TUE  VANDERUILT  JiAl^L. 

bosom-friend  and  horttess  of  one  of  tlie  lerding  meniberH  of  the 
Euglisli  uristucracy),  and  herself  the  wife  uf  i  ne  of  the  richest 
young  men  in  New  York,  America,  or  tlie  wor.d,  recently  gave 
a  fancy-dress  party,  to  which  were  invited  prominent  represen- 
tatives of  the  wealth,  fasliion,  beauty,  and  inlluoiice  of  the 
metropolis.  An  ex-president  of  the  United  States  attended 
the  ball.  An  ex-secretary  of  State  was  there.  The  richest  men 
in  the  land  were  there.  And  their  wives  and  daughters,  sistera 
and  sweetliearts,  were  there.  Over  eight  hundred  millions  of 
dollars  were  represented  by  their  owners,  and  their  owners' 
wives'  diamonds. 

One  of  the  very  finest  houses  in  America  was  thrown  open 
to  the  eight  hundred  invited  guests,  who,  decked  in  every  gor- 
geous variety  of  fanciful  attire,  presented,  in  the  magnificent 
parlors  of  the  mansion,  a  scene  rivalling  fairyland,  and  far  sur- 
passing any  scene  ever  presented  on  the  boards  of  a  theatre. 

But  there  was  more  at  the  Vandcrbilt  ball  than  money  or 
beauty  or  fashion  or  influence.  There  was  wine  there  in 
profusion.  Thousands  of  bottles  of  liquor  had  been  provided, 
at  a  cost  of  several  thousands  of  dollars ;  and  their  contents 
were  all  consumed  with  gusto.  True,  there  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  any  great  excess  at  that  particular  place  on  that  par- 
ticular occasion.  But  the  unfortunate  fact  remains,  undenied 
and  undeniable,  that  a  prominent  society  lady,  herself  a  profess- 
ing Christian,  at  an  entertainment  representing  that  "best 
society"  to  which  the  rest  of  the  social  world  looks  for  an 
example,  at  an  entertainment  controlled  by  her,  given  by  her, 
to  which  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  turned,  and  to  which  she 
knew  the}'  were  turned,  deliberately  gave  her  sanction  to  wine- 
bibbing, —  ay,  made  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  liquors 
provided  for  her  ball  a  subject  for  marked  comment. 

By  so  doing,  the  lady  unwittingly,  and  unthinkingly  prob- 
ably, cast  her  vote,  as  it  were,  in  favor  of  the  liquor  traffic.    What- 


h'INE-SUPPERS.  267 

ever  influence  she  and  her  positiou  might  have  was  thrown  in 
the  sculo  in  favor  of  drink.  '  ■       '•       - 

The  bull,  under  such  auspices,  did  not  leave  the  worUl  any 
better  thiin  it  found  it,  but,  in  so  far  us  tlie  question  of  temper- 
ance or  intemperance  is  concerned,  It^'t  it  worse.  i   ■      , 

Far  bo  it  from  me  to  censure  or  criticise  unfuirly  a  lady  or 
a  stranger.  From  all  I  hear,  the  ludy  in  this  cuso  is  one  of  the 
best  and  briglitest  specimens  of  her  delightful  sex,  a  truly 
Chriatiuu  woniun ;  and,  in  giving  wine  at  her  bull,  she  did  but 
follow  the  almost  universul  custom  of  the  world  in  which  slie 
lives,  moves,  and  has  her  being.  But  truth  is  truth ;  and  the 
simple  truth  is,  that  it  would  have  been  infinitely  better  for 
the  world  if  there  had  been  no  liquors  offered  at  that  famous 
ball.  But  the  evil  of  feminine  intemperance,  or  at  least  wine- 
drinking  by  females,  is  not  confined  to  balls  or  receptions,  etc., 
public  or  private.  It  has  become  one  of  the  most  pernicious 
and  popular  customs  of  the  time,  to  connect  an  evening's 
amusement  with  a  supper,  as  a  matter  of  routine  and  of  course. 
And  of  this  supper,  wine  forms  part,  and  a  most  important 
part,  "  of  routine  and  of  course." 

It  is  not  enough  now-a-nights,  for  a  gentleman  to  take  a  lady 
to  an  opera,  or  a  concert,  or  a  theatre.  lie  must,  almost  per- 
force, ask  the  lady,  after  the  entertainment,  to  partake  of  a 
supper,  and  a  bottle,  or  bottles,  of  wine,  at  some  fashionable 
restaurant.  If  he  omits  this  invitation  to  supper  and  wine,  he 
is  considered  by  the  ladies  a  very  undesirable  cavalier,  is 
regarded  "  mean  "  or  "  stingy,"  is  sneered  at  as  "  prudent " 
or  "economical,"  or  is  slightingly  and  slangily  designated  as 

"N.  G."        ..    :,  ,  ^        „     ■     .  • 

This  evil  of  "  supper  after  the  theatre  "  or  opera  is  a  four- 

First,  It  is  an  unnecessary  expense,  and  a  considerable  and 
therefore  lamentable  waste  of  money,  benefiting  nobody  but 


268  A  FOURFOLD  EVIL. 

the  rich  hotel  or  restaurant  koeper,  who  does  not  need  it.  True, 
to  many  this  item  of  expense  is  but  a  trifle ;  they  can  afford 
it:  but  to  many  —  many  more  men  —  it  is  a  seriou.*  thing, and 
they  cannot  afford  it ;  but  they  must  stand  it  all  the  same. 

Second,  It  is  a  positive  inj'iry  to  the  physical  systems  of  both 
parties  to  the  supper.  It  is  considered  to  be  injurious  to  the 
digestion  in  the  majority  of  cases. 

Then,  it  is  certainly  an  evil  to  the  nervous  systems  of  the 
parties,  encroaching  upon  the  hours  that  ought  to  be  devoted 
to  sleep. 

And,  lastly,  it  is  a  moral  evil ;  as  the  wine-drinking  thereat 
tends  directly  to  intemperance. 

Many  a  young  girl,  and  many  a  mature  woman,  goes  to  bed 
with  disordered  stomach,  excited  nerves,  and  wine-heated  brain, 
instead  of  a  clear  head,  a  cool  head,  a  sound  digestion,  and  a 
calm  mind,  "all  on  account  of  an  after-the-theatre  wine-sup- 
per." 

And  many  a  young  man,  finding  himself  in  the  streets  of 
New  York,  or  some  other  great  city,  after  midnight,  with  his 
nerves  inflamed  by  the  wine  he  has  just  partaken  of  with  a 
lady,  determines  to  "  make  a  night  of  it,"  and  winds  up  with 
a  disreputable  debauch,  "  all  on  account  of  an  after-the-theatre 
wine-supper." 

Thirty-five  hundred  dollars  have  been  received  by  one  Fifth- 
avenue  restaurant  in  one  week  from  "suppers"  ordered  by 
parties  after  eleven  o'clock  ai  night.  Of  this  expenditure,  all  of 
which  was  unnecessary,  the  majority  was  for  wine,  all  of  which 
was  positively  injurious. 

Even  those  blessed  institutions  known  as  "excursions," 
which  have  become  the  poor  man's  greatest  and  only  luxuries, 
and  the  average  citizen's  delight,  are  getting  to  be  associated 
almost  inseparably  with  drink  and  drinking-habits  in  some 
form  or  other. 


THE  CURSE  OF  "  EA'CURSIONS."  269 

The  best  and  wornt  proof  of  this  fact  is,  timt  u  heavy  profit  is 
annually  realized  off  of  "the  bar-privileges"  of  "excurttion- 
boats ;  "  although  a  treuiendouu  price  iu.  charged  for  these  ''  privi- 
leges," or  curses. 

Every  "  excursion-house  "  depends  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  on 
its  bar.  And  there  are  more  "burs"  than  "hotels"  at  every 
excursion-place. 

And  as  women  aijd  children  form  the  majority  of  excursion- 
ists, as  the  male  of  the  human  species  is  generally  accompanied 
on  an  excursion  by  his  female  and  his  young,  it  necessarily 
follows,  that  women  and  children  are  in  the  habit  of  "drinking" 
on  "excursions,"  —  a  statement  which  every  excursionist  is  in 
a  condition  to  corroborate. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  (for  it  would  not  be  the  truth)  that 
hard  drinking  is  the  rule  on  excursions;  it  is,  happily,  the 
exception.  But,  nevertheless,  wine  or  beer  drinking  is  not 
the  exception,  but  the  rule. 

The  wrik-r  one  Saturday  afternoon  took  a  trip  to  Coney 
Island.  lie  counted  during  the  course  of  his  trip,  extending 
from  four  in  the  afternoon  till  nine  in  the  evening,  one  hundred 
and  eigliteen  women  and  seventeen  children  whom  he  saw 
drinking:  true,  most  were  drinking  beer,  whicli  is  one  degree 
less  injurious  and  reprehensible  than  drinking  alcoholic  spirits, 
but  they  were  all  on  the  road  to  ruin,  and  more  than  half 
the  number  were  evidently  "the  worse  for"  their  potations. 
The  benefit  derived  from  the  fresh  air  and  change  of  scene 
had  been  almost  neutralized  by  the  beer.  The  "  excursion  " 
liad  been  changed  from  a  blessing  into  a  bane  by  "the  drink." 

But  bad  as  is  the  drinking  female  excursionist,  or  the  woman 
who  drinkr.  in  company,  the  female  solitary  drinker,  or  the 
woman  who  drinks  alone,  is  worse.  The  condition  of  the 
latter  is  much  more  dangerous  than  that  of  the  former,  though 
both  are  in  imminent  peril.    And  yet  the  number  of  solitary 


270  "  SOLITAItY  DRINK  Kits  "   AMONG    WOMEN. 

driiikerH  amcig  women  is  large,  aiitl  is  yearly  increasing. 
There  are  so  many  women  nowadays  who  live  alone,  who  are 
deserted  by  their  husbands,  or  who  have  no  husbands  or  male 
protectors ;  there  are  so  many  women  who  have  to  live  by 
themselves,  in  both  senses  of  the  word  "by,"  and  to  these 
lonely  ones  the  temptation  is  so  strong  to  seek  solace  in  the 
stimulation,  or  temporary  oblivion,  produced  by  alcohol. 

One  of  the  saddeat  sights,  possibly,  to  bo  seen  by  mortal  eyes, 
is  one  of  the  commonest,  —  I  see  it  almost  every  duy, — some 
little  girl,  from  six  years  old  to  ten  or  twelve,  sent  to  a  saloon 
with  a  pitcher  in  her  little  hand,  to  bo  filled  with  beer  for  her 
mother,  or,  at  any  rate,  some  older  woman.  Such  a  spectacle 
is  too  familiar  in  tenement-liouse  districts,  and  in  some  locali- 
ties that  have  naught  to  do  with  tenement-houses,  to  attract 
attention.  And  yet  there  can  bo  to  the  thoughtful  observer 
really  no  sadder  sight  than  an  old  woman  sending  a  young 
woman  for  drink. 

V7hen  a  woman  reaches  the  solitary-drinking  stage  she  is 
generally  "  done  for,"  lost  beyond  redemi)tion,  or  as  nearly  so 
as  any  human  being  can  ever  be.  Yet  there  are  thouHands  of 
women,  some  of  them  brilliant,  in  this  very  stage  this  very  hour. 

I  know  of  one  once  glorious  woman  who  is,  in  the  literal  and 
fullest  meaning  of  the  term,  drinking  herself  to  death.  She 
is  still  fine-looking,  is  accomplished  and  clever,  but  has  become 
a  slave  to  alcohol,  and,  alas  I  loves  her  slavery.  She  is  ruining 
her  health  and  her  morals,  ay,  even  what  to  many  a  woman  is 
more  than  morals  or  health,  —  her  looks ;  but  she  persists,  and 
probably  will  persist  unto  the  end,  which  cannot  be  far  off. 

The  papers  recently  reported  the  case  in  which  the  relatives 
of  a  wealthy  widow  were  compelled  to  apply  to  law  to  have  a 
guardian  appointed  for  the  lady,  who  had  become  an  habitual 
drunkaid,  and  was  squandering  her  property  in  drunken  orgies 
with  "fast  "  acquaintances,  male  and  female. 


*    •    A   WOMAN  "  CHRONICALLY  DIIUNK.'*  8T1 

There  lives  to-tlny  in  tlio  city  of  Brooklyn  a  \vf)nian  who 
has  not  drawn  a  sober  breath  for  tlio  hist  ten  years.  She  keeps 
herself  chronically  drunk,  and,  what  is  even  worse,  has  taught 
her  nieces  —  two  little  girls  — to  drink  with  her.  The  younger 
girl,  a  miss  of  fifteen  years  of  age,  has  repeatedly  been  seen 
reeling  through  the  streets,  carrying  sumetimes  beer  and  some- 
times brandy.  .  .        . 

Not  long  ago  there  died  on  Blackwell's  Island  a  woman 
called  "old  Sal  Coon."  This  woman's  real  name  was  Sarah 
Kuhn  ;  and  she  had  been  at  one  time  a  belle  of  New  York,  and 
the  fiancSe  of  u  wealthy  man.  But  she  took  to  drink ;  and  drink 
took  from  her,  one  by  one,  lover  and  position,  and  property  and 
beauty,  and  health  and  self-respect :  till  at  last  she  became  a 
"station-house  lodger"  and  "a  vagrant,"  and  as  such  served  six 
or  seven  terms  "on  the  Island."  Yet  she  clung  to  drink  as 
though  it  had  been  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  or  her  heart's  love, 
or  her  only  hope,  instead  of  her  only  curse  and  her  worst  enemy. 

The  once  society  queen  lived  a  tramp,  and  died  a  pauper,  for 
the  sake  of —  rum.  I  could  cite  a  score  of  similar  cases  did  time 
and  space  permit.  The  cases  would  only  differ  in  details  :  the 
main  points  would  be  terribly  the  same.     •    ■ 

Of  late  years  the  facilities  for  feminine  intemperance  have 
been  individually  increased  in  a  quarter  which  would  not  be  at 
first  suspected.  The  "  drug-stores  "  of  the  period  have  entered 
into  a  species  of  competition  with  *  the  family  entrances "  of 
saloons,  and  with  the  "fashionable  r istjvurants,"  for  supplying 
the  woman  of  the  period  with  stimulau^^^s,  alcoholic  or  otherwise. 
Cases  arc  not  infrequent  in  which  the  lady-drinker  obtains  her 
liquor  from  her  drug-store,  on  the  plea  of  "  for  medicinal  pur- 
poses." The  druggists  do  not  hesitate  to  furnish  the  liquor, 
although  they  do  not  hesitate  to  laugh  slyly  at  the  plea. 
Money  has  as  much  influence  over  druggists  as  over  any  other 
class  in  the  communi*^y.  uo,  .:.  ..,„.   .■    ....■•'* 


272        DRUGGISTS,  DOCTORS,  AND  INTEMPERANCE. 

And,  in  some  cases,  even  physicians  are  induced  to  lend  their 
aid  to  intemperance.  At  least,  cases  have  been  known  in  which 
female  drinkers  have  produced  physicians'  prescriptions  for 
intoxicating  liquors.  I  apply  these  remarks  in  this  connection, 
not  merely  to  druggists  in  States  or  towns  where  "prohibi- 
tory" laws  prevail,  but  to  druggists  in  cities  like  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  who  can  have  no  possible  excuse  for  the 
sale  of  liquor,  except  strictly  in  limited  quantities,  under 
peculiar  circumstances,  as  medicine. 

I  may  here  add,  that  druggists  do  not  confine  themselves  to 
the  sale  of  alcoholic  stimulants.  They  have  encouraged  and 
fostered  a  trade  in  other  stimulati'^g  preparations  among  women. 

Thus,  I  am  informed  that  bromide  of  potassium  is  now  largely 
sold  to  ladies  for  its  stimulating  properties.  Bromide  of  potas- 
sium is  a  splendid  medicine,  —  a  nerve-soother  and  a  peace- 
producer,  properly  taken.  But,  improperly  used,  it  produces  a 
species  of  intoxication  which  ultimately  results  in  idiocy. 

Codeine  is  another  nerve-agent  used  and  abused  for  its  stimu- 
lating properties.  Codeine  seems  to  have  no  direct  action  on 
the  brain,  but  confines  itself  to  the  nerves.  Taken  in  six-grain 
doses,  it  will  completely  revolutionize  the  nervous  system.  But 
its  exhilarating  effects  are  followed  by  a  very  disagreeable  tin- 
gling and  itching,  succeeded  by  an  intense  period  of  depression, 
or  "horrors."  Quinine,  as  is  well  known,  has  highly  stimulat- 
ing properties ;  and  advantage  is  frequently  taken  of  this  fact. 
Of  course,  nothing  is  easier  than  to  get  quinine,  under  pretence 
of  suffering  under  malarial  disease,  or  without  any  pretence  at 
all ;  and  in  a  little  while,  at  a  very  little  expense,  a  species  of 
exhilaration  can  be  produced.  A  prominent  resident  of  Staten 
Island,  a  widow-iady,  is  a  victim  to  the  habitual  use  of  quinine 
as  a  stimulant.  So  is  a  wealthy  widow-lady,  one  of  the  princi- 
pal real-estate  owners  in  New  York. 

Many  of  the  minor  remedies  and  medicines  on  the  druggist's 


MINOR  STIMULANTS.  273 

calendar  are  likewise  growing  in  demand  as  stimuli.  Thus, 
the  essence  of  ginger  is  much  employed  by  clergymen.  It  is  a 
mild  stimulant,  "  so  they  say."  How  truthfully  may  be  judged 
from  the  statement  of  a  druggist  to  the  writer,  that  essence  of 
ginger  is  only  another  name  for  alcohol,  being  eighty-five  per 
cent  alcohol,  —  a  "  mild  stimulant ''  indeed ,  Two  tablespoonf uls 
of  this  "  mild  stimulant "  will  produce  a  state  of  semi-intoxica- 
tion, which,  though  not  followed  by  such  re-action  as  in  the  case 
of  alcohol  pure  and  simple,  is  succeeded  by  stomachic  trouble, 
and  general  derangement  of  system. 

Spirits  of  lavender,  or  red  lavender,  is  another  "mild  stimu- 
lant." Much  in  vogue  among  old  maids,  it  seems  to  go  with 
cats  and  parrots  and  corkscrew  curls. 

The  aromatic  spirits  of  ammonia,  or  eau  sedative,  is  a  very 
popular  preparation  with  French  women  and  actresses.  It  is  a 
pretty  powerful  stimulant,  though  neither  its  exhilarating  nor 
depressing  effects  last  long ;  while  among  the  poorer  classes  of 
women,  —  servant-girls  and  laimdresses,  —  "essence  of  pepper- 
mint "  is  decidedly  in  demand  as  a  stimulant. 

None  of  these  stimulants  may,  perhaps,  be  styled  "  danger- 
ens'"  in  themselves.  Certainly,  none  of  them  are  to  be  com- 
pared with  alcohol.  But  they  foster  a  pernicious  tendency  to 
stimulation,  which  insensibly  but  almost  inevitably  leads  the 
way  for  more  dangerous  and  deleterioits  preparations. 

I  have  not  alluded  here  to  the  growing  use  of  opium  and 
hashish  (cannabis  indica,  or  Indian  hemp)  among  women, 
because  "  the  opium  habit "  is  an  evil  altogether  apart  from  the 
evil  I  am  considering  (though  quite  as  terrible). 

But,  taken  as  a  class  of  establishments,  it  may  be  truthfully 
stated,  that  much  of  the  evil  upon  which  I  have  been  dilating 
—  intemperance  among  females  —  is  due  directly  to  the  facili- 
ties afforded  for  intemperance  by  drug-stores. 

What  with  private  balls,  public  balls,  suppers  after  theatres 


274  A  TRIPLE  CURSE. 

at  fashionable  restaurants,  drinking  on  rides  and  excursions, 
"  family  entrances  "  to  rum-saloons,  solitary  drinking,  and  tlie 
drug-store  of  the  period,  the  female  sex  is  almost  as  likely  to 
fall  a  victim  to  the  demon  of  drink  as  the  male. 

And,  oh !  if  woman  could  only  realize  what  a  horrible  thing 
intemperance  is  in  her ,  —  how  much  more  horrible  than  in  a 
man,  —  she  would  never  drink. 

Intemperance,  thougli  morally  as  great  a  crime  in  one  sex  as 
in  the  other,  is  socially  and  physically,  and  from  a  physiological 
point  of  view,  more  fearful  and  more  criminal  in  a  woman  than 
a  man,  for  three  reasons :  — 

Firat,  Every  true  man  cherishes  a  high  ideal  of  the  sex  which 
furnished  him  a  mother ;  and,  when  this  ideal  is  rudely  shat- 
tered (and  nothing  on  earth  is  so  calculated  to  utterly  destroy 
this  ideal  as  seeing  a  woman  under  the  influence,  not  of  senti- 
ment, but  spirits,  not  of  love,  but  liquor),  he  receives  a  shock 
much  greater  than  any  man  could  cause  him  to  endure. 

Second,  A  woman's  nerves  being  more  delicate  than  a  man's, 
the  injurious  effect  of  liquor  upon  her  sensitive  organization  is 
increased.  Men  can  work  or  walk  off  some  of  their  foul  spirits ; 
but  a  woman  merely  suffers  when  she  drinks,  and  can  do  noth- 
ing. If  women  were  only  wise,  and  knew  themselves,  no  man 
living  could  ever  successfully  tempt  them  to  drink ;  and  they 
would  ask  for  poison  as  soon  as  ask  for  liquor. 

Third,  A  woman,  in  her  capacity  as  a  mother,  is  doubly 
guilty  if  she  drinks ,  for  she  drinks  for  two.  She  poisons  the 
blood,  she  shatters  the  nerves,  of  her  child  as  well  as  herself. 

This  is  a  point  which  has  vas.;ly  more  importance  than  is 
generally  attached  to  it.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  hereditary 
intemperance,  —  inherited  tendency  to  drink.  Every  phj'siologist 
■is  aware  of  this  fact.  I  have  practically  discovered  it,  and  have 
acted  on  my  discovery,  as  I  will  narrate  hereafter. 

The  milk  of  a  nursing-mother,  who  is  of  intemperate  habits, 


DOUBLY  TERBIBLE  AND  CRIMtNAL.  275 

becomes  charged  with  the  alcohol  she  imbibes,  and  is,  in  its 
turn,  imbibed  by  the  poor,  helpless  infant,  who  fcecomes,  as  it 
were  an  infantKlrunkard,  cursed  for  life  by  its  own  mother 

Whether,  therefore,  looked  at  as  a  wife  or  a  mother,  whe'ther 
regarded  as  a  human  being  or  a  member  of  society,  whether 
looked  at  from  a  man's  point  of  view,  a  woman's  or  a  child's 
a  woman  who  is  intemperate  is  doubly  terrible  and  criminal      ' 


i-f , 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  RUM-SEIXKR'S  responsibility. —what  I  DID,   AND  WHAT  I  HAVE  EVER 
SINCE  UEEN  SORRY  FOR  UAVINO  DONE.  — "A  DRaNKAKD'S  BlULE." 

And  yet  I  did  my  devilish  shave,  in  the  days  of  which  I  now 
write,  to  make  women  intemperate  by  selling  them  the  cursed 
wherewithal.  Not  a  few  women  came  to  mv  bar-room,  —  "The 
Merchants'  Union  Cigar-Store  and  Sample-Room  ; "  and  I  took 
their  money  just  as  I  took  men's  money,  and  gave  them  beer 
or  wine  or  whiskey,  brandy,  rum,  or  gin,  just  as  I  would  give 
to  men.  Some  of  the  poor  women  who  came  to  my  gilded  den, 
with  their  thin,  pinched  faces,  showed  signs  of  poverty,  and 
even  positive  hunger ;  but  I  heeded  not  their  faded  looks :  all 
I  heeded  then  was  wliat  they  carried  in  their  faded  pocket- 
books,  if  they  had  any.  Some  of  the  poor,  degraded  wretches 
of  faithless  mothers  left  their  lielpless  children  at  their  wretched 
rooms,  or  room,  uncared  for  wliile  they  &tole,  or  staggered,  to 
my  den  for  drink.  But  I  sold  them  the  drink ;  though  I  felt, 
though  I  knew,  that  the  coin  they  held  tremblingly  out  to  me 
should  have  bought  their  children  food  or  clothes.  God  for- 
give me !  but  I  was  a  brute  and  a  rascal  then.  God  forgive 
me !  for  I  can  never  fully  forgive  myself. 

One  poor  woman  crept  into  my  gilded  den  one  night,  and 
asked  for  gin.  I  poured  out  the  vile  stuff  she  asked  for  into  the 
bottle  she  brought  with  her ;  and  then  she  handed  slowly,  and, 
a*  it  were,  painfull}',  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  and  placed  it  in  my 
opened  palm.  As  I  was  about  to  put  the  money  into  the 
876 


CAIN'S  OLD  QUESTION.  277 

drawer,  I  heard  her  sigh,  and  shake  her  head,  and  say,  "  The 
last,  the  very  hist." 

Something  about  the  woman  stirred  my  better  nature,  —  I  still 
had  such  an  article  hidden  somewhere  about  me,  —  and  I  got 
into  a  talk  with  her  about  herself.  It  was  about  the  only  sub- 
ject on  which  she  now  could  talk,  misery  is  so  egotistical. 

I  learned  that  she  had  a  sick  child  at  her  room,  and  tliat 
the  quarter  of  a  dollar  she  had  just  given  me  for  gin  was  all  the 
money  she  had  left  in  the  world,  —  "  the  last,  the  very  last."  I 
did  not  take  that  quarter,  —  I  returned  it  to  her ;  but,  alas  I  I  let 
her  take  the  gin  away  with  her.  And  the  next  day  she  died 
in  a  drunken  debauch. 

Alas,  alas !  I  have  the  destruction,  I  fear,  of  many  a  woman  and 
man  to  answer  for,  —  at  least  my  share  thereof.  True,  I  did  not 
think  of  this  at  the  time ;  or,  if  I  did,  I  lulled  my  conscience  to 
sleep  with  Cain's  old  question, "  Am  I  my  brother's  or  my  sister's 
keeper? "  But,  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  I  assumed  my  portion 
of  responsibility ;  and  I  must  bear  it. 

Oh !  if  every  rum-seller  would  but  for  one  hour  regard  this 
matter  of  responsibility  in  its  true  light,  as  I  see  it  clearly 
now,  there  would  not  be  a  glass  of  liquor  sold  as  a  beverage 
throughout  Christendom  to-morrow,  or  ever  after. 

Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  some  thirty  years  ago,  published  in  that 
most  admirable  publication,  "  Harper's  Magazine," — a  magazine 
always  devoted  to  temperance,  religion,  and  morality,  —  a  pow- 
erful sketch  entitled  "  A  Drunkard's  Bible,"  which  very  forcibly 
illustrates  this  point  of  a  rum-seller's  responsibility. 

This  sketch  opens  with  a  conversation  between  an  English 
village  inn-keeper,  Mathew  Hownley,  and  his  sister  Martha. 

"  There  is  more  money  made  in  the  public  line  than  in  any  other, 
unless  it  be  pawnbroking,"  said  Martha  Hownley  to  her  brother; 
"  and  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  feel  uncomfortable.  You  are  a 
sober  man :  since  I  have  kept  your  house,  I  never  remember  seeing 


278  "  MARTHA,    }VE  MUST  LIVE." 

you  beside  yourself ;  indeed,  I  know  that  weeks  pass  witliout  your 
toudiing  beer,  raucli  less  wine  or  spirits.  If  you  did  not  sell  them, 
somebody  else  would.  And,  were  you  to  leave  '  The  Grapes ' 
to-morrow,  it  might  be  taken  by  those  who  would  not  have  your 
scruples.  All  the  gentry  say  your  house  is  the  best  conducted  in  the 
parish ' '  — 

"  I  wish  I  really  deserved  the  compliment,"  interrupted  Mathcw, 
looking  up  from  his  day-book.  "  I  ought  not  to  content  myself  with 
avoiding  Iwer,  wine,  and  spirits :  if  1  believe,  as  I  do,  that  they  are 
injurious,  alike  to  the  character  and  health  of  man,  I  should,  by 
every  means  in  my  power,  lead  others  to  avoid  them." 

"  But  we  must  live,  Mathew  ;  and  your  good  education  would  not 
keep  you  —  we  must  live  !  " 

"Yes,  Martha,  we  must  live,  —  but  not  the  lives  of  vampires;" 
and  he  turned  rapidly  over  the  accounts,  uotiug  and  comparing,  and 
seemingly  absorbed  in  calculation. 

Martha's  eyes  became  enlarged  by  curiosity,  —  the  small,  low  curi- 
osity which  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  noble  spirit  of  inquiry. 
She  believed  her  brother  wise  in  most  things ;  but,  in  her  heart  of 
hearts,  she  thought  him  foolish  in  worldly  matters.  Still,  she  was 
curious  ;  and,  yielding  to  what  is  considered  a  feminine  infirmity,  she 
said,  "  Mathew,  what  is  vampires?  " 

Mathew  made  no  reply  ;  so  Marlhs,  —  who  had  been  "  brought  up 
to  the  bar"  by  her  uncle,  while  her  brother  was  dreaming  over  an 
unproductive  farm,  troubled  as  usual  about  "much  serving,"  and 
troubling  all  within  her  sphere  by  worn-out  and  shrivelled-up  anxie- 
ties, as  much  as  by  the  necessary  duties  of  active  life  —  looked  at 
Mathew  as  if  speculating  on  his  sanity.  Could  he  be  thinking  of 
giving  up  his  business,  because  of  that  which  did  not  concern  him  ? 
—  but  she  would  "manage  him."  It  is  strange  how  low  and  cun- 
ning persons  do  often  manage  higher  and  better  natures  than  their 
own. 

"Martha,"  he  called  at  last  in  a  loud  voice,  "I  cannot  afiford  to 
give  longer  credit  to  Peter  Croft." 

"  I  thought  he  was  one  of  your  best  customers :  he  is  an  excellent 


INFIRMITY  OF  PURPOSE.  279 

workman  ;  his  wife  has  much  to  do  as  a  clear-starclier ;  and  I  am  sure 
he  spends  every  penny  he  earns  here,"  — such  was  Martha's  answer. 

"And  more!"  replied  Mathew,  "more!  Wliy,  last  week  the 
score  was  eigiiteen  sliillings —  besides  what  he  paid  for." 

"He's  an  lionorable  man,  Matiiew,"  persisted  Martha.  "It  is 
not  long  since  he  brought  me  six  teaspoons  and  a  sugar-tongs  when 
I  refused  him  brandy  (lie  will  have  brandy).  They  must  have  be- 
longed to  his  wife  ;  for  they  had  not  P.  C.  on  them,  but  E.  — some- 
thing :  I  forget  what." 

Matliew  waxed  wroth.  "  Have  I  not  told  you,"  be  said,  —  "  have 
I  not  told  you  that  we  must  be  content  with  the  flesh  and  blood,  with- 
out the  bones  and  marrow,  of  these  poor  drunkards?  I  am  not  a 
pawnbroker  to  lend  money  upon  a  man's  ruin.  I  sell,  to  be  sure, 
what  leads  to  it ;  but  that  is  his  fault,  not  mine." 

"You  said  just  now  it  teas  yours,"  said  his  sister  sulkily. 

"  Is  it  a  devil,  or  an  angel,  that  prompts  your  words,  Martha?  " 
exclaimed  Mathew  impatiently ;  tlieu,  leaning  his  pale,  thoughtful 
brow  on  his  clasped  hands,  he  added,  "But,  however  much  I  some- 
times try  to  get  vid  of  them,  it  must  be  for  my  good  to  see  facts  as 
they  are." 

Martha  would  talk :  she  looked  upon  a  last  word  as  a  victoiy. 
"He  must  have  sold  them  whether  or  not,  as  he  has  done  all  his 
little  household  comforts,  to  pay  for  what  he  has  honestly  drunk ; 
and  I  might  as  well  have  them  as  any  one  else.  My  money  paid  for 
them,  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  went  into  your  till.  It's  very 
hard  if,  with  all  my  labor,  I  can't  turn  an  honest  penny  in  a  bargain 
sometimes,  without  being  chid  as  if  I  were  a  baby." 

"I  am  sorely  beset,"  murmured  Mathew,  closing  the  book  witii 
hasty  violence,  —  "  sorely  beset ;  the  gain  on  one  side,  the  sin  on  the 
other;  and  she  goads  me,  and  puts  things  in  the  worst  light:  never 
was  man  so  beset,"  he  repeated  helplessly;  and  he  said  truly  he 
was  "  beset,"  — by  infirmity  of  purpose,  —  that  mean,  feelile,  puiful 
frustrator  of  so  many  gool  and  glorious  intentions. 

It  is  at  once  a  blessed  and  a  wonderful  thing  how  the  little  grain  of 
"good  seed  "  will  spring  up  and  increase :  if  the  soil  be  at  all  pro- 


280  TUE  GOOD  SEED. 

ductivo,  how  it  will  fructify  !  A  great  stone  may  be  placed  right  over 
it,  and  yet  the  shoot  will  forth, — Hidewuifa,  iK'rlmps,  after  a  long, 
noiseless  struggle  amidst  the  weight  of  eai'th,  —  a  white,  slender 
thing,  like  a  bit  of  thread  that  falls  fwui  the  clipping-scissum  of 
a  little  heedless  maid  —  creeps  up,  twists  itself  rouud  the  stone,  a 
little,  pale,  meek  thing,  tending  tqnvard  —  becoming  a  delicate  green 
in  the  wooing  sunlight  —  strengthening  in  the  morning,  when  birds 
are  singing  —  at  mid-day  when  man  is  toiling  —  at  night,  while  men 
are  sleeping,  until  it  j)ushea  away  the  alone,  and  oversliuduws  its 
inauspicious  birthplace  with  strength  and  beauty. 

Yes :  where  good  seed  has  been  sown,  there  is  always  hope,  that, 
one  day  or  other,  it  will,  despite  snares  and  pitfalls,  despite  scorn 
and  bitterness,  despite  evil  report,  despite  temptations,  despite  those 
wearying  backslidings  which  give  the  wicked  and  the  idle  scoffers 
ground  for  rejoicing,  —  sooner  or  later  it  will  fructify. 

All  homage  to  the  good  seed  !  —  all  homage  to  the  good  sower ! 

And  who  sowed  the  good  seed  in  the  heart  of  Mathew  Ilownley  ? 
Truly,  it  would  be  hard  to  tell.  Perhaps  some  sower  intent  on  doing 
his  Master's  business ;  perhaps  some  hand  unconscious  of  the  wealth 
it  dropped ;  perhaps  a  young  child,  brimful  of  love,  and  faith,  and 
trust  in  the  bright  world  around ;  perhaps  some  gentle  woman, 
whose  knowledge  was  an  inspiration  rather  tlmn  an  acquirement ; 
perhaps  a  bold,  true  preacher  of  the  Word,  stripping  the  sinner  of 
the  robe  that  covered  his  deformity,  and  holding  up  his  cherished 
sins  as  warnings  to  the  world  ;  perhaps  it  was  one  of  Watts's  iiymns, 
learned  at  his  nurse's  knee  (for  Mathew  and  Martha  had  endured 
the  unsympathizing  neglect  of  a  motherless  childhood),  a  little  line, 
never  to  be  forgotten,  — a  whisper,  soft,  low,  enduring,  — a  comfort 
in  trouble,  a  stronghold  in  danger,  a  i-efuge  from  despair.  Oil,  what 
a  world's  wealth  is  there  in  a  simple  hne  of  childhood's  poetry ! 
Martha  herself  often  quoted  the  "  Busy  Bee  :  "  but  her  bee  had  no 
wings ;  it  could  muck  in  the  wax,  but  not  fly  for  the  honey.  As  to 
Mathew,  wherever  the  seed  had  come  from,  there,  at  all  events,  it 
was,  struggling,  but  existing  —  biding  its  time  to  burst  forth,  to  bud, 
and  to  blossom,  and  to  bcai*  fruit. 


"IN  DUE  TIME.''  281 

The  exposure  concerning  the  spoons  nutl  sugar-tongs  made  Muthcw 
so  angry,  that  Murthu  wislied  she  had  never  had  nny  thing  to  do  witli 
them ;  but,  instead  of  avoiding  the  fault,  she  simply  resolved  in  her 
own  mind  never  agiiin  to  let  Mathew  know  any  of  her  little  transac- 
tions in  the  way  of  buying  or  barter :  that  was  all. 

Mathew,  all  that  day,  continued  more  thoughtful  and  silent  than 
usual,  which  his  sister  considered  a  bad  sign  :  he  was  reserved  to  his 
customers,  —  nay,  worse  :  he  told  a  woman  she  should  not  give  gin  to 
her  infant  at  his  bar,  au4  positively  refused,  the  following  Sunday, 
to  open  his  house  at  all.  Martha  asked  him  if  he  were  mad.  He 
replied,  "No:"  he  was  "regaining  his  senses."  Then  Martha 
thought  it  best  to  let  him  alone :  he  had  been  "worse"  —  that  is, 
according  to  her  reading  of  the  word  "  worse  "  — before,  —  taken  the 
"dumps"  in  the  same  way,  but  recovered,  and  gone  back  to  his 
business  "  like  a  man." 

Peter  Croft,  unable  to  pay  up  his  score,  managed,  nevertheless, 
to  pay  for  what  he  drunk.  For  a  whole  week  Martha  would  not 
listen  to  his  proposals  for  payment  "  in  kind :  "  even  his  wife's  last 
shawl  could  not  tempt  her,  though  Martha  confessed  it  was  n  beauty  ; 
and  what  possible  use  could  Mrs.  Peter  have  for  it  now,  it  was  so 
out  of  character  with  her  destitution.  She  heard  no  more  of  it,  so 
probably  the  wretched  husband  disiwsed  of  it  elsewhere  :  this  disap- 
pointed her.  She  might  as  well  have  had  it ;  she  would  not  be  such 
a  fool  again ;  Mathew  was  so  seldom  in  the  bar,  that  he  could  not 
know  what  she  did.  Time  passed  on  :  Martha  thought  she  saw  one 
or  two  symptoms  of  what  she  considered  amendment  in  her  brother. 
"Of  course,"  she  argued,  "  he  will  come  to  himself  in  due  time." 

In  the  twilight  whicii  followed  that  day,  Peter  Croft,  pale,  bent, 
and  dirty,  the  drunkard's  redness  in  his  eyes,  the  drunkard's  fever 
on  his  lips,  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  room  off  the  bar,  which  was 
more  particularly  Martha's  room,  — it  was,  in  fact,  her  watch-tower, 
—  the  door  half  glazed,  and  the  green  curtain  about  an  inch  from 
the  middle  division :  over  this  the  sharp,  observant  woman  might 
see  whatever  occurred,  and  no  one  could  go  in  or  out  without  her 
knowledge.     ,■  ,      •  :, 


282  A  DRUNKARD'S  BinLE. 

She  (lid  not  siiy  "  Coino  in"  at  ouce :  alio  longed  to  know  wluit 
new  temptation  lie  had  brought  her,  for  site  felt  assured  ho  htul 
neither  money  nor  credit  left. 

And  yet  she  feiired,  "  Muthew  miide  such  a  worry  out  of  every 
little  thinji;."  Tlie  next  time  he  tapped  at  the  window  of  the  door, 
her  e^'ea  met  his  over  the  curtain  ;  and  then  siie  Huid,  "  Come  in,"  in 
a  penetrating,  sliarp  voice,  which  was  an}*  tiung  but  an  invitation. 

"  I  have  brouglit  you  something  now,  MIhh  Mownley,  that  I  know 
you  won't  refuse  to  lemt  me  u  trille  on,"  sakl  the  ruined  tradesman  : 
'>I  am  sure  you  won't  refuse,  Miss  Ilownlcy.  Had  as  I  want  the 
money,  I  could  not  take  it  to  a  pawnl)roker;  ond,  if  the  woman 
asks  for  it,  1  can  say  I  lent  it,  Miss  Uownley :  you  know  I  can 
say  tiiat. ' ' 

Teter  Croft  laid  a  Hible  on  the  table,  and,  folding  back  the  pages 
witli  his  tremi)ling  llngei-s,  showed  that  it  was  abundantly  illustrated 
by  fine  engravings.  Martha  loved  "pictures;"  she  had  taken  to 
pieces  a  ''I'ilgrim's  Progress,"  and  varying  the  devotional  engrav- 
ings it  had  contained  with  abundant  cuttings  out  from  illustrated 
newspapers,  and  a  few  colored  caricatures,  had  covered  one  side  of  a 
screen,  which,  when  finished,  she  considered  would  be  at  once  the 
comfort  and  amusement  of  her  old  age.  After  the  drunkard  had 
partially  exhibited  its  contents,  he  stootl  by  with  stolid  indifference  ; 
while  she  measured  the  engravings  with  her  eye,  looking  ever  and 
timon  toward  the  screen.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  uttering  a  delib- 
erate untruth  with  her  lips,  while  her  mind  was  made  up  what  to  do, 
—  "  very  well :  what  did  you  say  you  wanted  for  it?  "  He  repeated 
the  sum :  she  took  out  exactly  half,  and  laid  the  shining  temi)tation 
on  the  table  before  hira. 

"Have  you  the  heart,  Miss  Hownley,"  he  said,  while  fingering, 
rather  tlian  counting,  the  money,  —  "  have  you  the  heart  to  offer  me 
such  a  little  for  such  a  great  deal?  " 

"  If  you  have  the  heart  to  sell  it,  I  may  have  the  heart  to  offer 
such  a  price,"  she  answered,  with  a  light  laugh;  "and  it  is  only  a 

drunkard's    BIBLE  !  "  -  t     t    -~   -■       -r-,-- 

Teter  Croft  dashed  the  money  from  him  with  a  bitter  oath. 


WUAT  TUB  ^nOD  BOOK  SAl'B.  288 

"  Oh,  voiy  well !  "  she  said  ;  "  take  It,  —or  leave  it." 

Slie  Jt'SiniK'il  licr  work. 

Tliu  only  purpose  to  wliioli  n  drunkard  \»  firm  is  to  Itis  owu  ruiu. 
Peter  went  to  the  door,  returned,  took  up  the  money.  "Another 
shilling,  niisH?     It  tvill  be  in  the  till  atjuiii  before  morning." 

Martha  gave  him  the  other  shilling,  and,  after  he  wuh  fairly  out  of 
the  room,  grapi)le(l  the  book,  comineneed  looking  at  the  pictureH  in 
right  earnest,  and  eongratnlated  heruelf  on  her  good  l)argain.  In 
due  tune  the  house  was  eleared  ;  and  she  went  to  bed,  placing  tlio 
Bible  on  the  top  of  her  table,  among  a  miHeellaneoiis  (tollection  of 
worn-out  dusters  and  tattered  glass-eloths,  "  waiting  to  be  mended." 

That  night  the  master  of  "The  (Jnipes''  eould  not  sleep.  More 
than  once  he  fancied  he  smelt  fire ;  and  after  going  into  tlie'  unoccu- 
pied roiims,  and  peepmg  through  the  keyholes  and  under  the  doors 
of  those  that  were  occupied,  he  descended  to  the  bar,  and  llnally, 
entering  the  little  bar-parlor,  took  his  day-book  from  a  shelf,  and, 
placing  the  candle,  sat  down,  listlessly  turning  over  its  leaves.  Uut 
the  top  of  the  table  would  not  shut ;  and,  raising  it  to  remove  thu 
oi)8truction,  Mathcw  saw  a  large  family  Bible,  rushing  away  the 
day-book,  he  opened  the  sacred  volume. 

It  opened  at  the  23d  chapter  of  Proverbs :  and,  as  if  guided  by  a 
sacred  light,  liis  eyes  fell  upon  the  21)th  verse;  and  he  read, — 

''Who  hath  woe?  who  hath  sorrow?  who  hath  contentions?  who 
hath  babbling  ?  who  hath  wounds  without  cause  ?  wlio  hath  redness  of 
eyes? 

"They  that  tarry  long  at  the  wine;  they  that  go  to  seek  mixed 
wine. 

"  Look  not  thou  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth  his 
color  in  the  cup,  when  it  nioveth  itself  aright. 

"  At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

He  dashed  over  the  leaves  in  fierce  displeasure ;  and,  as  if  of 
themselves,  they  folded  back  at  the  .5th  chapter  of  Galatians: 
"  Elnvyings,  murders,  drunkenness,  revellings,  and  such  like :  of  the 
which  I  tell  you  before,  as  I  have  also  told  you  in  time  past,  that 
they  which  do  such  things  shall  noi  inukuix  the  kingdom  of  God." 


284  THE  DAY  THAT  MUST  COME. 

"New  nnd  Old,  New  iiml  Old,"  nmrmurcd  Mathew  to  himself. 
"  I  am  condemiifd  uliku  by  tliu  Old  und  the  New  Testumcnt."  lie 
had  rejfiirded  intoxieutiou  uiid  itH  coimeiiiieiiees  heretofore  aa  a  great 
aocial  evil.  The  lliittering  ragH  and  the  llt'HhlesH  lM)iieH  of  the  dniiik- 
ard  and  hin  family ;  the  broilH,  the  contentionn,  the  ill-feeling,  the 
violence,  the  mnrderH,  wrought  by  the  dread  spirit  of  alcohol.  —  had 
ritood  in  array  before  him  as  nodal  erimeH,  as  social  dangerH  ;  lint  ho 
did  not  eall  to  mind,  if  he  really  knew,  that  the  word  of  (i(Kl  exponed 
alike  its  destruction  and  its  HinfulneHs.  lie  was  one  of  the  many 
who,  however  goml  and  moral  in  themselves,  shut  their  ears  agaiuHl 
the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely ;  and,  though  he 
often  found  wisdom  and  consolation  in  u  line  of  Watts's  hymns,  he 
rarely  went  to  the  fountain  of  living  waters  for  the  strengthening  and 
refreshing  of  his  soul.  lie  turned  over  the  chapter,  and  foinul  ou 
the  next  page  a  collection  of  texts,  written  uiM)n  a  strip  of  paper  in 
the  careful  hand  of  one  to  whom  writing  was  evidently  not  a  frequent 
occupation. 

Proverbs,  the  23d  chopter:  "For  the  drunkard  and  the  glutton 
shall  come  to  i)overty :  and  drowsiness  shall  clothe  a  man  with  rags." 
1  Corinthians,  6th  chapter,  10th  verse:  "  Nor  thieves,  nor  covetous, 
nor  drunkards,  nor  revilere,  nor  extortioners,  shall  inherit  the  king- 
dom of  God." 

"Again  that  awful  threat!"  murmured  Mathew;  "nnd  have  I 
been  the  means  of  bringing  so  many  of  rfiy  fellow-creatures  under 
its  ban?" 

1  Samuel,  the  Ist  chapter:  "And  Eli  said  unto  her.  How  long 
wilt  thou  be  drunken?  put  away  thy  wine  from  thee."  Luke  21  : 
"And  take  heed  to  yourselves,  lest  at  any  time  your  hearts  be  over- 
charged with  surfeiting,  and  drunkenness,  and  cares  of  this  life,  and 
so  that  day  come  upon  you  unawares." 

"Ay,  THAT  DAY,"  repeated  the  landlord,  —  "</iaf  day,  —  the  day 
that  must  come." 

Ephesians,  5th  chapter:  "And  be  not  drunk  with  wine,  wherein 
is  excess;  but  be  filled  with  the  Spirit."  Proverbs,  20th  chapter: 
"  Wine  is  a  mocker,  strong  drink  is  raging :  and  whosoever  is  de- 


TAKE  HEED  TO  THE  TniNO  THAT  IS  lilOnT.         286 

ct'lved  tliiTi'liy  Ih  not  wise."  "  Wt>€  to  thee  who  nelleth  wine  to  thy 
neighboi',  and  miuyleth  Htrotiy  driiik  to  hia  ileiitniction.*' 

Ho  i-()8(>  from  tliv  table,  niul  puoed  up  nnd  down  the  little  room :  no 
oyc  Init  IIIh  who  socth  all  tlilnjrH  l4M>ked  upon  the  enrneHtneHs  nnd 
agitation  of  tliiit  ninn ;  no  eur  but  the  All-lie»i-in^  lienrd  IiIh  HighR, 
Ills  Imlf-inuttered  prayera  to  be  atren^tlienetl  for  good.  He  snid 
within  liiM)H«'lf,  "  Who  will  counsel  nie  in  tliis  mutter?  To  wlioiii 
hIiuII  1  lly  for  Hynipiithy?  Who  will  tell  me  what  I  ouuht  to  do? 
IIow  remedy  the  evilH  1  Imve  brought  on  others  while  in  this  busi- 
ness, even  when  my  heart  was  alive  to  its  wickedness?  "  He  hud  no 
friend  to  advise  with,  —  none  who  would  do  aught  but  laugh  at  and 
ridicule  the  idea  of  giving  up  a  good  business  for  conscience'  sake : 
but  so  it  was  that  it  occurred  to  him,  "  You  have  an  immortal  Friend  ; 
take  counsel  of  Him,  pray  to  Him,  learn  of  him,  trust  Him  ;  make 
His  book  your  guide."  And,  opening  the  Hible,  he  read  one  other 
passage:  "  Keep  innocency,  and  take  heed  to  the  thing  that  is  right; 
for  that  shall  bring  a  man  peace  at  the  last." 

Pondering  on  this  blessed  rule  of  life,  so  simple  and  so  corapre- 
iiensive,  he  turned  back  the  pages,  repeating  it  over  and  over  again, 
until  he  came  to  the  first  fly-leaf,  wherein  wore  written  the  births, 
marriages,  and  deaths  of  the  humble  family  to  whom  the  Bible  had 
belonged  ;  and  therein,  second  on  the  list,  he  saw  in  a  stiff,  half- 
printed  hand,  the  name,  Emma  Hanbv,  only  daughter  of  James  and 
Mtiry  Jane  Hanby,  born  so-and-so,  married  at  such  a  date  to  Peter 
Choft ! 

"Emma  Hanby,"  l)orn  in  his  native  village, — the  little  Emma 
Hanby  whom  he  had  loved  to  carry  over  the  brook  to  school ;  by 
whose  side  in  boy-love  ho  had  sat  in  the  meadows ;  for  whom  he  had 
gnlliered  flowers ;  whose  milk-pail  he  had  so  often  lifted  over  the 
ciiurcli-stile ;  whom  he  had  loved  as  he  never  could  or  did  love  woman 
since;  whom  he  would  have  married,  if  she,  light-hearts:  girl  that 
she  was,  could  have  loved  the  tall,  yellow,  awkward  youth  whom  it 
was  her  pastime  to  laugh  at,  and  her  delight  to  call  "  Daddy,"  —  was 
she,  then,  the  wife  —  the  torn,  soiled,  tattered,  worn-out,  insulted, 
broken-spirited  wife  —  of  the  drunkard,  Peter  Croft?    It  seemed  im- 


286  THE  RUM-SELLER  ON  HIS  KNEES. 

* 

possible,  her  memory  had  I  en  such  a  sunbeam  from  boj'liood  up, 
the  refiner  of  his  nature,  the  dream  that  often  came  to  him  by  day 
and  niglit.  Wliile  passing  tlie  parochial  school,  when  the  full  tide 
of  girls  rushed  from  its  heat  into  the  thick  city-air,  his  heart  had 
often  beat  if  the  ringing  laugh  of  a  merry  child  sounded  like  the 
laugh  he  once  thought  music ;  and  he  would  watch  to  see  if  the  girl 
resembled  the  voice  that  recalled  his  early  love. 

"And  I  have  helped  to  bring  her  to  this,"  he  repeated  over  and 
over  to  himself  ;  "  even  I  have  done  this  ;  this  has  been  my  doing." 
He  might  have  consoled  himself  by  the  argument,  that,  if  Peter  Croft 
had  not  drunk  at  "The  Grapes,"  he  would  have  drunk  somewhere 
else ;  but  his  seared  conscience  neither  admitted  nor  sought  an 
excuse  :  and  after  an  hour  or  more  of  earnest  prayer  with  sealed  lips, 
but  a  soul  bowed  down,  at  one  moment  by  contempt  for  his  infirmity 
of  purpose,  and  at  another  elevated  by  strong  resolves  of  great  sacri- 
fice, Mathew,  carrying  with  him  the  dninkai'd's  Bible,  souglit  his 
bed.  He  slept  the  feverish,  unrefreshing  sleep  which  so  frequently 
succeeds  strong  emotion.  He  saw  troops  of  drunkards,  —  blear- 
eyed,  trembling,  ghastly  spectres,  pointing  at  him  witli  their  shaking 
fingers,  while,  with  pestilential  breath,  they  demanded  "who  had 
sold  them  poison."  Women,  too,  — drunkards,  or  drunkards'  wives, 
in  either  case,  starved,  wretched  creatures,  with  scores  of  ghastly 
children,  —  hooted  him  as  he  passed  through  caverns  reeking  of  gin, 
and  hot  with  the  steam  of  all  poisonous  drinks !  He  awoke  just  as 
the  dawn  was  crowning  the  hills  of  his  childhood  with  glory,  and 
while  its  munificent  beams  were  penetrating  the  thick  atmosphere 
which  hung  as  a  veil  before  his  bedroom  window. 

To  Mathew  the  sunbeams  came  like  heavenly  messengers,  winging 
their  way  tlirough  the  darkness  and  chaos  of  the  world  for  the  world's 
light  and  liie.  He  had  never  thought  of  that  before,  but  he  thought 
of  and  felt  it  then ;  and  much  good  it  did  him,  strengthening  his 
good  intent.  A  positive  flood  of  light  poured  in  through  a  pane  of 
glass  which  had  been  cleaned  the  previous  morning,  and  played  upon 
the  cover  of  the  poor  drunkard's  Bible.  Mathew  bent  his  knees 
to  the  ground,  his  heart  full  of  emotions,  —  the  emotions  of  his  early 


now  "  TUE  GBAPES"   LAY  IN  THE  KENNEL.        287 

and  better  nature ;  and  be  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and 
prayed  in  lionest  resolve  and  earnest  zeal.  The  burden  of  that 
prayer,  wiiich  escaped  from  between  his  lips  in  murmurs  sweet  as  the 
murmurs  of  living  waters,  was,  that  God  would  have  mercy  upon 
him,  and  keep  him  in  the  right  path,  and  make  him,  unwortliy  as  he 
was,  the  means  of  grace  to  others,  —  to  be  God's  instrument  for  good 
to  his  fellow-creatures ;  to  minister  to  the  prosperity,  tlie  regenera- 
tion, of  his  own  kind.  Oh,  if  God  would  but  mend  tlie  broken  vessel, 
if  he  would  but  heal  the  bruised  reed,  if  he  would  but  receive  him 
into  his  flock  !  Oh,  how  often  he  repeated,  "  God  give  me  strength  ! 
Lord  strengthen  me !  " 

And  he  arose,  as  all  arise  after  steadfast  prayer,  strengthened,  and 
prepared  to  set  about  his  work.  1  now  quote  his  own  account  of 
what  followed :  — 

"  I  had,"  he  said,  "  fixed  in  my  mind  the  duty  I  was  called  upon 
to  perform :  I  saw  it  bright  before  me.  It  was  now  clear  to  me, 
whether  I  turned  to  the  right  or  to  the  left :  there  it  was,  written  in 
letters  of  light.  I  went  down-stairs,  I  unlocked  the  street-door,  I 
brought  a  ladder  from  the  back  of  my  house  to  the  front ;  and  with 
my  own  hands,  in  the  gray,  soft  haze  of  morning,  I  tore  down  the 
sign  of  my  disloyalty  to  a  good  cause.  '  The  Grapes '  lay  in  the 
kennel,  and  my  first  triumph  was  achieved.  I  then  descended  to  my 
cellar,  locked  myself  in,  turned  all  the  taps,  and  broke  the  bottles 
into  the  torrents  of  pale  ale  and  brown  stout  which  foamed  around 
me.  Never  once  did  my  determination  even  waver.  I  vowed  to 
devote  the  remainder  of  my  life  to  the  destruction  of  alcohol,  and 
to  give  my  power  and  my  means  to  reclaim  and  succor  those  who  had 
wasted  their  substance  and  debased  their  characters  beneath  my  roof. 
I  felt  as  a  freed  man,  from  whom  fetters  had  l)een  suddenly  struck 
off.  A  sense  of  manly  independence  thrilled  through  my  frame. 
Through  the  black  and  reeking  arch  of  the  beer-vault,  I  looked  up  to 
heaven.  I  asked  God  again  and  again  for  the  strength  of  purpose 
and  perseverance  which  I  had  hitherto  wanted  all  my  latter  life. 
While  called  a  'respectable  man,'  and  an  '  honest  publican,'  I  kiieio 
that  I  was  acting  a  falsehood,  and  dealing  in  the  moral  —  perhaps 


288  "AWAY  THEY  GO." 

the  eternal  —  deaths  of  many  of  those  careless  drinkers,  who  had 
'sorrow  and  torment,  and  quarrels  and  wounds  without  cause,'  even 
while  I,  who  sold  the  incentives  to  sorrow  and  torment,  and  quarrels 
and  wounds  without  cause,  knew  that  they  '  bit  like  serpents,  and 
stung  like  adders.'  What  a  knave  I  had  been  !  erecting  a  temple  to 
my  own  respectability  on  the  ruins  of  respectability  in  my  fellow- 
creatures  ;  talking  of  honesty,  when  I  was  inducing  sinners  to  aug- 
ment their  sin  by  every  temptation  that  the  fragrant  rum,  the 
white-faced  gin,  the  brown,  bouncing  brandy  could  offer,  all  adulter- 
ated, all  untrue  as  myself,  ell  made  even  worse  than  their  original 
natures  by  downright  and  positive  fraud  ;  talking  of  honesty,  as  if  I 
had  been  honest ;  going  to  church,  as  if  I  were  a  practical  Christian, 
and  passing  by  those  I  had  helped  to  make  sinners  with  contempt 
upon  my  lip,  and  a  '  Stand  by,  I  am  holier  than  thou ! '  in  ny  proud 
heart,  even  at  the  time  I  was  inducing  men  to  become  accessories  to 
their  own  shame  and  sin,  and  the  ruin  of  their  families. 

"Bitter  but  happy  tears  of  penitence  gushed  from  my  eyes  as  the 
ocean  of  intoxicating  and  baneful  drinks  swelled  and  rolled  and 
seethed  around  me.  I  opened  the  drain,  and  they  rushed  forth  to  add 
to  the  impurity  of  tlie  Thames.  '  Away  they  go  ! '  I  said  :  '  their 
power  is  past.  They  will  never  more  turn  the  staggering  workman 
into  the  streets,  or  nerve  his  arm  to  strike  down  the  wife  or  child  he 
is  bound  by  the  law  of  God  and  man  to  protect ;  never  more  send 
the  self-inflicted  fever  of  delirium  tremens  through  the  swelling  veins  ; 
never  drag  the  last  shilling  from  the  drunkard's  hand ;  never  more 
quench  the  fire  on  the  cottage  hearth,  or  send  the  pale,  overworked 
artisan's  children  to  a  supperless  bed ;  never  more  blister  the  lips  of 
woman,  or  poison  the  blood  of  childhood ;  never  again  inflict  the 
Saturday's  headache  which  induced  the  prayerless  Sunday.  Away, 
away  !  Would  that  I  had  the  power  to  so  set  adrift  all  the  so  perverted 
produce  of  the  malt,  the  barley,  and  the  grape,  of  the  world ! '  As 
my  excitement  subsided,  I  felt  still  more  resob  _cl.  The  more  I 
calmed  down,  the  firmer  I  became.  I  was  as  a  paralytic  recovering 
the  use  of  liis  limbs,  as  a  blind  man  restored  to  sight.  The  regrets 
and  doubts  that  had  so  often  disturbed  my  mind  gathered  themselves 


REFORMED  AND  A  REFORMER.  289 

into  a  mighty  power,  not  to  be  subdued  by  eartlily  motives  or  earthly 
reasoning.  I  felt  the  dignity  of  a  mission.  I  would  be  a  temper- 
ance missionary  to  the  end  of  my  days  !  " 

And  he  kept  his  vow.  He  did  all  he  could  to  repair  the  evil 
he  had  helped  to  encourage  in  poor  Peter  Croft's  case,  and 
lived  and  died  reformed  and  a  reformer. 

The  story  is  a  noble  one,  and  should  be  republished  in  full 
by  the  conductors  of  "Harper's  Magazine."  It  will  amply 
repay  perusal. 

I  cannot  be  too  thankful  to  Almighty  God,  that  I  have  had 
the  good  fortune  and  the  grace,  in  a  humble  way,  to  imitate  the 
good  example  (if,  alas !  also  the  bad)  of  Mathew  Hownley. 

And  I  beg,  I  earnestly  implore,  the  many  really  good-hearted 
but  criminally  careless  men  who  are  to-day  in  the  ranks  of  the 
rum-sellers,  to  follow  my  example,  just  as  I  have  followed 
Mathew  Hownley's,  and  as  we  both  have  followed  the  teach- 
ings of  true  wisdom,  practical  morality,  and  the  Holy  Bible. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FURTHER  DETAILS  OF  MY  INIQUITIES  AS  A  RUM-SETXEB.  —  "  FREE  LUNCHES  " 
DENOUNCED  AND  EXPOSED. — THE  "  CORDIAL  "  HUMBUO. — THE  DECOY- 
BOTTLE. —  THE  STORY  OF  A  DEBAUCH. — "THE  NEW-YORK  HOUSE."  — 
RUM  AND  RUIN. —THE  FATE  OP  RUM-SELLERS. 

But,  alas !  I  am  not  now  writing  of  my  reformation,  but  of 
my  fall ;  not  of  the  days  in  which  I  have  been  striving  to  do 
good,  but  of  the  days  and  nights  in  which  I  did  evil,  and  that 
continually. 

I  was  very  wicked,  and  very  cunning  in  my  wickedness,  in  a 
low,  small  way.  I  did  all  I  could  to  decoy  my  victims,  and 
succeeded  only  too  completely.  I  patronized  all  the  latest  de- 
vices to  lead  my  customers  into  drinking.  I  had  the  latest 
novelties  in  the  way  of  patent  dice-boxes,  "  to  throw  for 
drinks."  And  I  prided  myself  on  the  quality  and  quantity  of 
the  viands  I  displayed  to  tempt  my  customers  at  my  "free 
lunch." 

A  few  words  here  as  to  "free  lunches."  These  are  among 
the  most  dangerous  devices  of  the  arch-fiend  of  intemperance. 
They  utilize  one  appetite  to  produce  and  assist  the  develop- 
ment of  another.  They  give  the  glamour  of  a  spurious  liber- 
ality to  the  mercenary  arts  of  the  rum-seller.  They  delude  the 
unthinking  and  the  unwary.  They  are  misnomers.  They  aro 
styled  "free,"  but  there  is  nothing  "free"  about  them.  They 
are  intended  to  be  paid  for  —  and  dearly  paid  for — by  the  par- 
takers thereof.  TLiey  are  either  of  a  very  common  and  che.ip 
sort,  —  salted  provisions,  which  incite  to  the  thirst,  which  it  is 

290 


THE  DOUBLE  PROFIT  OF  "A   FREE  LUNCU."         291 

designed  to  appease  subsequently  by  liquor,  —  or,  if  they  are 
of  a  higher  grade,  they  are  so  served  and  hedged  round  with 
social  etiquette  and  observances,  as  to  cause  the  "free  luncher" 
to  feel  under  obligations  to  pay  an  exorbitant  price  for  his 
drinks. 

In  some  places,  such  as  the  far- famed  Hoffman- house  bar, 
the  lunch  consists  of  sugar-cured  hams,  potato  or  other  salads, 
even  chicken  occasionally,  etc.  These  are  served  on  plates 
by  a  waiter,  and  are  partaken  of  on  finely  polished  tables. 
This  lunch,  thus  served,  is  "  free :"  but  at  the  luncher's  side 
stands  an  attendant,  who  expects,  find  gives  you  to  understand 
that  he  expects,  your  order  for  some  drink ,  and  this  drink 
is  charged  to  you  at  a  tariff  considerably  in  excess  of  the  regu- 
lar price  of  your  drink.  Whiskey  which  is  sold  to  you  at 
the  bar,  without  the  "  free  "  lunch,  for  fifteen  cents,  is  served 
to  you  with  the  "  free  "  lunch,  at  twenty  cents.  The  "  free- 
dom "  of  your  lunch  amounts,  therefore,  to  just  five  cents,  which 
in  itself  much  more  than  covers  the  actual  cost  of  your  "  free  " 
lunch,  in  addition  to  absolutely  forcing  you  to  spend  fifteen 
cents  besides  for  the  drink,  on  which  the  profit  is  again  tremen- 
dous. Your  "  free  "  lunch,  therefore,  pays  a  double  profit  to 
the  bar. 

But,  even  in  the  cases  where  no  direct  advance  is  charged  for 
the  lunch,  it  leads  directly  to  the  purchasing  of  drinks  which 
would  not  otherwise  be  purchased,  and  is  thus  very,  though 
indirectly,  profitable. 

Some  of  the  largest  and  most  popular  saloons  in  the  large 
cities  set  quite  an  elaborate  "free"  lunch  of  soups  and  meats, 
and  only  charge  ten  cents  for  their  drinks.  And  yet  their 
proprietors  make  fortunes,  showing  conclusively  how  much 
"money"  there  is  in  the  cursed  "business." 

I  have  calculated,  that,  on  an  average,  ten  "free  lunches" 
will  not  consume  over  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  provisions  at 


292  TUE  ''CORDIAL"  LODGE. 

actual  cost,  an  item  whicli  bears  a  very  small  proportion  Indeed 
to  the  money  they  expend  in  litiuors  and  cigars. 

I  have  also  calculated,  and  I  think  I  am  correct  in  my  calcu- 
lations, that  al  least  twice  as  many  people  are  induced  to  drink 
by  a  "  free  "  lunch  as  would  otherwise  be  led  to  partake.  So 
that,  taken  altogether,  a  free  lunch  is  one  of  the  most  profitable, 
as  it  is  popular,  of  rum-sellers'  dodges. 

Let  a  poor  devil  who  really  needs  a  lunch,  try  to  get  a  realli/ 
"free"  lunch  at  one  of  these  saloons,  and  see  how  he  will  fare. 
Let  him  eat  and  NOT  drink,  and  see  how  he  will  be  treated  — 
or  maltreated. 

This  whole  "free-lunch"  business  is  a  delusion,  a  sham,  and 
a  snare;  and,  as  "one  who  knows,"  I  expose  and  protest  against 
it. 

And  quite  as  pernicious  a  snare,  and  quite  as  thorough  and 
paltry  a  shame,  is  the  "  cordial  "  dodge.  "  Bitters  "  so  called, 
"  tonics  "  and  "  cordials  "  so  styled,  are  kept  "  in  stock  "  in  all 
the  rum-shops ;  and  men,  who  ought  to  know  better,  ease  their 
consciences  by  partaking  of  these  compounds,  thinking,  or  pre- 
tending to  think,  that  they  are  not,  thereby,  "drinking,"  —  in 
the  intoxicating  or  intemperate  sense  of  that  term. 

And  not  a  few  men,  and  some  women,  partake  freely  of  these 
cordials  at  their  offices  or  homes,  who  claim  to  be  "temperance" 
men  and  women.  And  yet  all  these  "bitters,"  "cordials," 
tonics,  and  the  like,  contain  a  very  large  per  cent  of  alcohol, 
and  will  as  assuredly  intoxicate  as  alcohol  itself. 

The  imbiber  of  "  bitters,"  etc.,  does  but  deceive  himself,  —  if 
he  does  even  that ;  he  certainly  does  not  deceive  the  world  at 
large,  which  by  this  time  has  found  out  what  these  "  bitters," 
etc.,  really  are ;  he  does  but  add  the  vice  of  hypocrisy  or 
deceit  to  the  vice  of  intemperance. 

But,  of  course,  T  was  not  burdened  with  these  reflections  at 
the  time  of  which  I  write :  and  I  displayed  a  fine  assortment 


THE  '•  DECOT-nOTTLE"    TRICK.  293 

of  "bitters,"  cordials,  and  tho  like,  to  my  customers;  though 
I  seUlom  partook  of  them  myself,  prefexTing  "to  take  my  whis- 
key straight."  All  this  time  I  drank  heavily,  of  course ;  but, 
even  in  my  drinking,  I  resorted  to  stratagem,  —  the  usual  rum- 
sellers'  stratagem.  I  was  asked,  during  an  average  day  and 
night,  to  drink  so  often  with  my  customers  (invitations  which, 
of  course,  I  could  not  disregard  in  the  way  of  "business""), 
that  I  would  assuredly  have  been  drunk  all  the  time,  and  un- 
able to  attend  to  business,  had  I  not  resorted  to  the  familiar 
"decoy-bottle"  trick.  I  had  a  bottle  of  cider,  or  very  diluted 
spirits,  sometimes  of  colored  lemonade,  constantly  on  hand ; 
which  bottle  was  labelled  whiskey  oi  brandy,  and  passed  as 
such.  When  invited  to  "drink,"  I  would  help  myself  from 
this  bottle,  helping  my  friend  and  patron  from  another  bottle, 
and  charging  both  drinks  to  him  ;  thus  combining  pleasure, 
profit,  and  humbug. 

I  still  retained,  and,  in  fact,  gained  in,  the  personal  "popu- 
larity" to  which  I  have  already  alluded;  and,  even  making 
allowances  for  the  times  when  I  resorted  to  my  "decoy"  bottle, 
I  was'  one  of  the  best,  or  worst,  customers  of  my  own  bar.  I 
paid  my  victims  at  least  the  poor  compliment  of  often  partaking 
with  them  the  poison  I  offered  to  them.  And  occasionally  I 
would  neglect  my  saloon  and  its  interests  altogether  for  days 
at  a  time,  trusting  my  business  to  my  subordinates,  and  con- 
centrating my  energies  on  having  a  wild  debauch  with  some 
boon  companions. 

Returning  from  one  of  these  debauches,  in  the  course  of 
which  I  had  visited  the  metropolis,  and  had  not  drawn  a  sober 
breath  between  New  York  and  Boston,  I  found  that  several  of 
my  regular  customers  had,  as  it  were,  taken  possession  of  my 
saloon ;  having,  in  friendly  fashion,  overpowered  the  bar-keeper 
I  had  left  in  charge,  and  literally  "  helped  themselves." 

I  found  bar-keeper  and  patrons  alike  in  a  state  of  intoxi- 


294  SATAN'S  CARNIVAL. 

cation;  high  carnival  being  in  progress,  —  Satan's  carnival. 
Some  men  were  sleeping  their  liquor  off  on  my  sofas :  others 
were  stretched,  rolling,  upon  the  floor.  At  first  I  was  in- 
clined to  be  enraged  with  my  bar-keeper,  and  cross  with  my 
customers,  who  had  thus  violated  all  the  "  customs  "  of  saloon- 
life,  "running  the  saloon  themselves."  But  I  was  too  "far 
gone  "  myself  to  find  fault  with  others  for  being  in  a  similar 
condition.  So,  after  the  first  emotions  of  surprise  and  anger 
had  passed,  I  entered  into  the  spirit  and  spirits  of  the  scene, 
and  intensified  the  debauch  and  disordur  instead  of  ending  it. 

I  invited  all  hands  to  "  make  a  night  of  it,"  a  proposal  which 
was  hailed  with  yells  of  delight  by  all  those  who  were  still 
capable  of  comprehending  it,  and  I  must  confess  that  I  was 
myself  somewhat  surprised  to  find  how  many  of  those  present 
did  "  comprehend  *  it  thoroughly. 

One  man,  whom  I  thought  was  buried  in  a  drunken  sleep 
upon  the  floor,  heard  my  proposition,  and  awoke  with  amazing 
alacrity.  I  don't  suppose  that  any  other  possible  proposition 
would  have  awoke  him  then,  but  a  proposition  to  drink  more 
at  somebody  else's  expense. 

Another  man,  who  had  been  tossing  about  on  a  lounge  in 
a  corner,  and  who,  I  thouglit,  was  in  the  last  stage  of  debauch, 
immediately  ceased  tossing,  and  arose,  and  walked  to  the  bar 
with  alacrity,  calling  for  a  "  free  "  drink,  in  practical  indorse- 
ment of  my  proposition. 

My  suggestion  was  carried,  as  they  say,  viva  voce,  nem.  con. 
So  we  did  "  have  a  night  of  it "  indeed.  Pouring  out  my 
best,  and  worst,  for  the  delectation  and  destruction  of  my  com- 
pany, I  led  the  way  into  the  streets  with  a  wild  "hurrah," 
which  was  echoed  by  the  crowd.  We  perpetrated  all  sorts  of 
pranks,  terrified  decent  people  out  of  their  wits,  and  had  what  is 
styled  "a  high  old  time  "  generally.  One  of  our  number  con- 
ceived a  deep,  desperate  attachment  to  a  lamp-post,  clung  to  it 


GIVING  A  LAMP-POST  TAFFY.  295 

closely  find  tenderly,  and  could  not  be  torn  from  It.  He  kissed 
it  with  drunken  fervor,  culled  it  "pet  names,"  and,  what  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  done  before  or  since,  ^'' gave  the  lamp-pout 
taffy"  —  talked  to  the  lamp-post  just  as  a  young  man  would  to 
the  girl  he  was  courting  on  a  Sunday  night. 

Longfellow  says  somewhere,  "  ATection  never  was  wasted;" 
but  then,  Longfellow,  poor  fellow  1  had  never  seen  a  fellow 
making  love  to  a  lamp-post. 

What  became  of  us  all  that  night  I  cannot,  to  this  day, 
distinctly  remember,  but  I  do  distinctly  remember,  to  tliis 
hour,  what  a  terrible  headache  I  had  next  day,  and  how 
fearfully  I  paid  for  that  debauch  by  shattered  nerves  and 
disordered  system  for  days  afterward. 

From  the  date  of  this  debauch  I  became  demoralized ;  spree 
succeeded  spree ;  I  neglected  my  business,  not  only  occasion- 
ally, but  altogether,  and  soon  was  "ruined,"  not  only  as  a 
man,  but  as  a  rum-seller. 

I  had  no  longer  any  saloon  to  keep,  or  rum  to  sell.  On 
account  of  my  excesses,  I  was  compelled  to  give  up  business ; 
or,  rather,  my  business  gave  up  me.  And  after  a  campaign  of 
about  six  months  against  the  pocket-books,  health,  and  mor- 
als of  my  fellow-men,  "Othello's  occupation  was  gone,"  and 
I  was  a  bankrupt,  and  once  more  without  a  business. 

Had  I  now  received  my  deserts,  I  would  have  been  per- 
mitted, through  my  own  wickedness  and  recklessness,  to  go 
from  one  excess  into  another,  and  to  go  down  at  last  into  a 
drunkard's  grave;  but,  through  the  mercy  of  Providence,  my 
evil  career  did  not  produce  upon  me  a  fatal  result. 

In  this  dark  hour  kind  friends,  far  kinder  than  I  deserved, 
gathered  round  me,  taking  pity  upon  one  who  had  no  pity 
for  himself  or  others.  My  brothers  still  clung  to  me  :  a  good 
home  was  even  now  placed  at  my  disposal.  Nay,  my  excep- 
tional good  luck  went  still  farther :  and  although  I  had  wasted, 


296  ONE  MORE  CnANCS. 

B8  has  been  seen,  one  large  8um  of  money  placed  at  my  com- 
mand unexpectedly  by  one  friend ;  yet  I  now  came  acrosw 
Btill  another  party,  who  had  faith  in  my  businesH  capacity, 
and  who  once  more  offered  to  start  me  in  business.  Other 
parties  sustained  my  new,  or,  rather,  my  old,  friend  and  well- 
wisher  in  his  offer ;  and  I  found,  that,  with  all  my  dissipations, 
I  yet  retained  the  confidence  of  a  certain  number  of  my  fel- 
low-men, who  were  willing  to  aid  me  by  every  means  in  their 
power.  And,  really,  I  could  have  been  a  good  manager,  and 
a  successful  business-man,  had  not  that  terrible  blight  of  in- 
temperance settled  over  me  ;  but  that  destroyed  all. 

My  kind  friends  determined  to  give  me  one  more  chance; 
and,  more  money  being  jjlaced  at  my  disposal,  I  opened  a 
hotel.  I  leased  the  estate  of  the  late  Samuel  Piper,  Esup, 
the  extensive  coal-dealer  of  Boston,  at  21  South  Street  in 
that  city,  and,  fitting  up  the  establishment  as  a  hotel  and 
restaurant,  called  it  "The  New- York  House."  The  house 
was  of  only  moderate  size  ;  but  I  made  my  calculations  for 
profit  upon  my  dining-roohi  and  restaurant,  and  my  "meals" 
would  have  paid  me  had  I  properly  attended  to  them  and 
to  business.  But  I  opened  a  "  sideboard "  (another  name 
for  a  "bar"),  and  soon  became  the  most  constant  customer 
of  that  portion  of  the  establishment. 

At  first  my  trade  more  than  equalled  the  expectations  of 
my  friends :  business  was  "  rushing,"  and  I  employed  a  num- 
ber of  colored  waiters.  I  made  money  from  the  very  start, 
but,  alas  I  my  money  did  me  more  harm  than  good.  I  became 
careless,  reckless,  dissipated  once  more,  and  more  than  ever. 
Not  only  was  my  business  "  rushing,"  but  I  was  "  rushing  " 
to  perdition.  I  gave  no  attention  to  the  affairs  of  the  house, 
and  frequently  would  stagger  into  the  dining-room,  at  meal- 
times, in  a  maudlin  condition.  This  misbehavior  naturally 
offended  my  guests,   and   their  number  began  to  diminish , 


A  DEnAUCii.  297 

while  all  fliscipline  and  comfort  in  the  house  were  at  an 
end. 

Then  I  began  to  absent  myself  from  the  place,  —  took  to 
"spreeing  around,"  as  it  is  termed,  and  made  myself  locally 
conspicuous  by  my  excesses.  Frequently  I  would  start  off 
from  my  house  to  do  my  daily  marketing,  leaving  word  with 
the  steward  or  head-waiter  that  I  would  return  in,  say,  an 
hour;  as  I  then  would  really  intend.  But  meeting,  on  the  way 
to  or  from  market,  with  some  "boon"  companion,  whose  so- 
ciety was  the  very  reverse  of  a  "boon  "  to  me,  we  would  begin 
to  drink  at  the  nearest  bar-room,  and  would  keep  drinking,  at 
bar-room  after  bar-room,  all  that  day  maybe,  —  all  that  day 
and  night  maybe,  —  and  maybe  for  days  and  nights  together. 

Once,  starting  for  market  early  one  morning,  I  did  not  return 
to  my  place  for  nearly  two  weeks.  I  met  some  foolish  friends, 
with  time  and  money  to  waste ,  and  we  started  on  a  debauch, 
which,  beginning  in  Boston,  was  carried  all  the  way  to  New 
York,  where  we  remained  the  greater  portion  of  the  time. 

What  a  fearful  fortnight  that  was  !  With  what  regret  and 
shame  I  look  back  upon  it  now  I  We  were  none  of  us  sober  all 
those  long  two  weeks,  and  pjvssed  our  time  in  sin  of  all  descrip- 
tions. Witliin  the  two  weeks  we  broke,  either  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, every  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments.  Beasts  —  self- 
made  human  beasts  —  that  we  were,  we  wallowed  in  the  mire. 
And  yet  we  were  all  full-grown  men,  —  some  even  married 
men,  with  sons  and  daughters,  —  men  whose  wives  spent  the 
two  weeks  in  sadly  wondering  and  fearing  what  had  become 
of  their  husbands. 

At  last  we  returned,  but  in  what  a  condition  1  One  of  our 
party  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  delirium  tremens.  I  mj''- 
self  was  bordering  on  the  same.  It  had  been  a  debauch,  and 
we  had  to  pay  the  penalty.  A  debauch  like  this  is  one  of  the 
most  expensive  things  on  earth,  for  it  costs  more  than  any  man 


298  liEOINNiyO  TUB  DAY   WITH  nRANDT. 

can  ufTurcl  to  piiy.  From  that  dcbiuich  mattcrH  grew  steadily, 
Hwiftly,  woi'Hu  and  woiHe.  I  was  going  down  hill  now  ut  rail- 
road 8|)eed.  My  businesa  decreased,  and  my  dissipation  in- 
creased. I  wart  completely  the  hlavo  of  alcoholic  li(iuoi'.  My 
colored  porter  (Allen  VV.  Sawyer,  afterwards  employed  by  Dr. 
Lightliill  of  Boston)  was  instructed  to  bring  nic  brandy  every 
morning  before  I  arose  from  bed.  I  began  the  day,  not  with 
prayer,  but  brandy.  What  good  could  possibly  como  of  a  day 
thus  horribly  begun? 

One  morning  my  porter  forgot  to  bring  my  liquor.  I 
remained  in  bed  for  two  hours,  calling  and  cursing  the  delin- 
quent. I  was  conq)letely  the  slave  of  my  dei)raved  desire  for 
strong  drink.  Wlien  at  last  the  porter  ai»peared,  I  met  him 
with  a  volley  of  abuse.  In  fact,  I  abused  everybody  connected 
with  me,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  drinking-mcn.  There  is 
no  such  a  creature  as  a  "genial  "  hard-drinker. 

Hard,  constant  drinking  of  alcoholic  liquors  so  upsets  the 
nervous  system  as  to  render  the  drinker,  if  not  mad,  morose ; 
he  becomes  unduly,  unnaturally  irritable  ,  he  becomes,  not  only 
a  pest  to  society,  but  a  terror  to  his  family  and  servants. 
Though,  when  in  my  normal  condition,  a  really  kind-hearted 
man,  I  became  in  my  cups  (and  I  was  now  always  in  my  cups) 
almost  a  fiend  in  my  ill-temper,  as,  I  fear,  my  poor  porter, 
Allen,  who  in  his  way  was  an  honest,  obliging  fellow  enough, 
could  testify. 

Meanwhile,  as  my  health  declined,  and  my  temper  grew 
worse,  my  pecuniary  matters  became  more  and  more  entangled. 
My  creditors  were  numerous  by  this  time,  and  waxed  impatient. 
They  put  their  claims  into  constables'  hands  to  collect.  The 
State  police  made  my  acquaintance  as  an  impecunious  debtor, 
—  but  a  shade  better  than  a  defaulter.  I  could  not  meet  my 
obligations.  At  last  the  end  came,  as  could  have  been  expected 
from  such  a  beginning.    The  grand  finale  of  my  once  prosper- 


RUM-SELLER' fi  MONEi'.  299 

0U8  hotel  WAS  nil  auctiun-HiiIu  of  tlio  clmttoltt  contuiiicd  tlicruiii. 
I  was  now  litoriilly  liousck-rts.  I  was  turned  out  into  the  Htreet. 
Nay,  let  me  write  the  8iiii|tlo  truth.  I  hud  turned  myself  out 
intc  the  street.  I  had  rendered  myself  homeless.  I'rovidunto 
had  given  mo  opportunity  after  opportunity.  Friend  after 
friend  had  given  me  chance  after  uhunec,  but  in  vain,  —  all 
iu  vain.  Uiiin  had  proved  stronger  than  Providence  or 
friends. 

Once  more  I  began  to  realize  that  the  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor and  rum-seller  and  rum-drinker  is  hard.  I  becani  a 
complete  beggar.  From  comparative  aflluenco  I  had  sunk  to 
extreme  poverty,  and  in  less  than  two  years.  All  the  money  I 
had  made  by  my  cursed  traffic  in  rum  had  done  me  no  lasting 
good.     It  had  gone,  as  it  came,  with  a  curso. 

And  here  let  mo  remark,  that  experience  and  observation 
have  taught  me  that  rum-sellers'  money  never  comes  to  good. 
It  curses  too  many  to  be  blessed  itself.  I  have  yet  to  learn  of 
a  case  in  which  a  man  who  sold  rum  has  reaped  and  kept  a 
fortune  under  such  circumstances  as  to  benefit  himself. 

True,  he  often  makes  a  fortune,  but  it  is  sooner  or  later 
wasted  or  lost.  It  never  results  in  solid,  lasting  advantages  to 
its  i)ossessor  or  his  family.  Even  in  the  very,  very  few  cases 
which  serve  as  exceptions  to  prove  this  rule,  it  will  be  found 
that  some  terrible  misfortune  has  accompanied  the  pecuniary 
benefits  realized. 

Of  the  five  men,  who  are  all  the  rum-sellers  I  have  ever 
known  or  heard  of  who  have  kept  the  money  they  made,  four 
have  been  cursed  in  ways  unconnected  with  money,  it  is  true, 
but  in  such  ways  as  to  render  their  money  worthless.  One  of 
the  five  is  a  raving  maniac  in  an  asylum.  Another  is  an  im- 
becile. A  third  is  afflicted  with  a  terrible  and  incurable  ner- 
vous disease,  and  the  fourth  has  experienced  every  possible 
variety  of  domestic  misfortune. 


800  DISGRACED  IN  BOSTON. 

"  There's  a  Divinity  which  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

I  was  now  another  example  of  the  truth  I  have  just  been 
stating  and  illustrating.  Spite  of  all  the  money  I  had  made 
by  sin,  I  was  now  not  only  a  sinner,  but  a  pauper. 

I  had  been  poor  before  this,  when,  on  my  Western  trip,  I 
had  scarcely  managed  to  keep  soul  and  body  together ;  and  it 
was  rum  had  ruined  me  then.  1  had  returned  to  the  East 
once  more,  and  had  prospered,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  for 
a  season ;  but  I  was  now  again  prostrated,  and  rum  had  ruined 
me  again.  Disgraced  in  Boston,  I  turned  my  rum-reddened 
t^yes  in  the  direction  of  New  York.  The  railroad-pass  business 
was  now  at  an  end  with  me.  I  had  exhausted  all  my  influence 
in  that  direction.  But  I  managed  to  borrow  ten  dollars  from 
a  friend  (the  last  of  the  friends  I  had  left  in  Boston),  and  with 
that  money  purchased  a  ticket  for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  BROKEN  PROMISE  AND  A  BROKEN-HEARTED  BROTHER.  —  LIQUOR  BRINGS 
ITS  REVENGE.  — THE  HORRORS  OF  MANIA  A  POTU,  OB  DELIRIUM  TRE- 
MENS.—  SOME  CURIOUS  AND  STARTLING  FACTS. —HOW  I  FELT  AND  WHAT 
I  SUFFERED.  —MY  ADVENTURES  AND  FOLLIES. —  I  BECAME  "  A  TRAMP." 
—  STATION-HOUSE  LODGERS  AND  REVOLVERS. 

New  York  once  more.  The  wheel  of  fortune  had  turned 
around ;  and  again  I  was  a  castaway  in  a  great  city,  alone,  — 
a  wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  But  I  did  not  repent 
me  of  my  folly :  my  time  for  true  repentance  had  not  yet  come. 
I  only  drank.  I  did  not  think.  And  will  it  be  believed?  I 
absolutely  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  balance  of  the  ten  dol- 
lars loaned  me  to  come  to  New  York  on,  —  the  only  money  I 
had  in  the  world  just  then,  —  in  rum. 

Then,  with  only  two  dollars  betwcv^n  me  and  starvation,  I 
went  round,  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  a  way,  seeking  employment. 
But  by  this  time  being  well  known  to  be  a  confirmed  drunk- 
ard, and  bearing  the  evidences  of  my  bad  habits  with  me  in 
my  general  appearance,  and  my  breath,  I  failed,  and  Avas  re- 
duced to  literally  my  last  dollar,  soon  to  my  last  half-dollar ; 
and  a  half-tloUar  does  not  go  very  far  in  New  York. 

Had  I  been  punished  as  I  richly  deserved,  I  would  have 
been,  at  this  crisis  of  my  fate,  abandoned  by  the  kind  Provi- 
dence that  had  hitherto  watched  over  me,  and  allowed  to  drain 
the  cup  of  misery  and  starvation  to  its  dregs.  But  yet  another 
chance  was  to  be  offered  to  me,  and  abused  by  me. 

At  this  time,  when  every  penny  waa  valuable  to  me,  nay, 

301 


802  A  BROKEN  PROMISE. 

vital,  I  received,  in  the  most  unexpected  manner,  from  a  party 
I  most  unexpectedly  met,  a  hundred  dollars.  And  then  my 
dear,  good  brother  William,  at  my  urgent  solicitaticm,  know- 
ing that  I  understood  thoroughly  the  restaurant  business,  and 
having  faith  ni  the  promises  I  now  made  to  attend  to  it,  loaned 
me  some  money  himself,  and  borrowed  some  more  money  for 
my  use  from  others ;  and  thus  once  more  I  had  a  start  in  life. 
My  brother  had  solemnly  exacted  from  me  a  pledge,  before  he 
let  me  have  the  money,  that  under  no  circumstances  would  I 
hereafter  touch  liquor,  or  sell  it.  I  gave  the  required  pledge, 
and,  to  do  myself  but  justice,  gave  it  in  good  faith.  At  the 
time  I  really  never  intended  —  just  then  —  ever  to  taste  or 
deal  in  rum  again. 

My  brother  had  faith  in  my  word,  and  joyfully  assisted  me  to 
start  on  a  new  career  of  industry  and  sobriety.  What  with 
some  cash  and  some  credit,  I  obtained  quite  a  stock  of  goods 
and  furniture,  and  opened  a  restaurant  at  144  Bleeeker  Street. 
This  restaurant  I  christened  "The  St.  Lawrence,"  in  honor  of 
the  noble  river  on  whose  banks  I  first  saw  the  liirht  of  day. 
And  for  a  time  the  establishment  did  well,  and  promised  to  do 
better.  Alas!  it  probably  would  have  fulfilled  its  promise 
better  than  I  kept  mine. 

For  in  an  evil,  ill-omened  hour,  I  deceived  my  noble,  gener- 
ous, confiding  brother.  I  listened  to  the  bad  advice  of  a  dis- 
solute companion,  and  introduced  liquor  on  my  premises,  first 
secretly,  then  openly,  as  an  article  of  traffic.  In  short,  my 
restaurant  became,  what  too  many  restaurants  already  are,  a 
drinking-saloon,  a  cursed  rum-shop. 

The  fatal  consequences  of  this  foolish  and  vile  course  of 
procedure  soon  became  apparent,  chiefly  in  my  own  person. 
As  usual,  I  became  the  most  frequent  and  steady  customer  of 
my  own  bar ;  and  the  same  evil  results  followed  that  had  at- 
tended me  before.     I  took  to  hard  drinking.     My  place  became 


A  "  SPECIAL  CURSE "   OF  INTEMPERANCE.  803 

a  resort  for  hard  drinkers.  I  was  seen,  in  business  hours  and 
in  business  places,  drunk. 

The  news  reached  the  ears,  and  was  brought  before  the  very- 
eyes,  of  my  creditors,  —  of  the  parties  who,  on  my  own  and  my 
brother's  representations  of  my  sobriety,  had  let  me  have  goods 
or  furniture.  Finding  themselves  deceived,  the  parties  who 
still  owned  the  goods  (as  I  had  not  paid  for  them),  and  the 
furniture-dealers,  came,  and  took  their  property  away.  In  less 
than  three  weeks  after  its  opening,  my  restaurant,  or  saloon, 
was  closed.  Such  was  the  end  of  my  third,  and,  as  it  proved, 
m^  last,  rum-shop.  And  I  now  thank  Heaven  that  it  er:led 
80.  It  was  fitting  that  all  such  undertakings  should  terminate 
in  bringing  upon  themselves,  what  they  bring  upon  others, 
—  disaster. 

But,  alas !  my  kind,  my  trusting,  my  deceived,  brother,  he 
suffered  through  my  folly  and  sin,  he  was  blamed  by  those  to 
whom  he  had  made  pledges  for  me ;  and,  worst  of  all,  he  was 
grieved  to  the  heart,  alike  at  my  intemperance  and  my  deceit. 
Poor  fellow !  he  had  trusted  me  so,  and  had  hoped  in  me  so. 
And  now  — 

Poor,  dear,  kind-hearted,  truly  Christian  brother!  he  was 
brought  to  his  bed  by  combined  chagrin,  anxiet}^  and  disappoint- 
ment. He  had  not  been  .'n  robust  health  for  some  time,  and 
his  trouble  intensified  his  physical  complaints.  He  was  taken 
with  a  severe  attack  of  low  typhoid  fever,  and  for  a  while 
serious  consequences  were  anticipated.  A  very  serious  conse- 
quence, indeed,  did  follow.  Being,  through  grief  and  sickness, 
unable  to  attend  to  his  business,  another  person  was  employed 
to  do  his  necessary  work :  and  thus  my  ever  temperate  brother, 
through  his  devotion  to  a  d/unkard,  lost  his  place. 

It  is  one  of  the  special  curses  of  intemperance,  to  bring  sor- 
row upon  the  innocent  as  well  as  guilty.  Those  who  do  not 
drink  must  suffer  with  those  who  do.     The  drunkard's  wife  and 


804  A  DRUNKARD'S  HOMCEOPATnT. 

the  drunkard's  children  are  punished  even  more  than  the  drunk- 
ard :  they  have  the  shame  and  poverty  and  care  to  bear,  without 
experiencing  the  temporary  exhilaration  and  excitement.  My 
poor  brother  was  paying  the  penalty  of  my  sins. 

But  he  was  avenged.  For  the  sight  of  his  sickness,  and  the 
reflection  that  his  misfortunes  were  caused  by  my  worthlessness, 
and  the  dark  thoughts  which  now  crowded  upon  me,  as  I  saw 
now  what  a  rogue  and  fool  alike  I  had  been,  under  the  damning 
influence  of  drink,  drove  me,  alas,  alas !  to  drink  the  more. 

Strange,  and  terrible  as  strange,  that  drunkards  should  be 
unconsciously  such  confirmed  homoeopaths.  It  is  the  cardinal 
doctrine  of  homoeopathy,  that  like  cures  like,  that  what  causes 
a  disease  can  cure  it ;  and,  with  liquor,  the  drinking-man  seems 
to  act  upon  this  principle.  Rum  leads  him  to  sorrow,  and 
sorrow  leads  him  back  to  rum,  in  a  species  of  endless  chain  of 
luckless  destiny.  In  his  case  this  homoeopathy  of  rum  is  a 
horrible  mistake.  I  found  it  so ;  for  now  the  liquor,  which  had 
time  and  time  again  brought  me  to  poverty  and  disgrace, 
brought  me  at  last  to  that  horror  of  horrors,  called  mania  a  potu, 
or  delirium  tremens. 

This  term  is  of  unfortunately  frequent  occurrence.  It  is  seen 
constantly  in  print  nowadays.  But  few,  save  those  who  have 
suffered  from  it,  ever  even  faintly  realize  all  that  it  implies. 

I  would  to  Heaven  that  I  had  the  genius  of  a  Dickens  or 
a  Victor  Hugo.  For  in  that  case  I  would  pen-paint,  as  only  a 
Dickens  or  a  Hugo  could,  the  terrors  of  delirium  tremens; 
although  I  firmly  believe,  that  even  those  great  men,  or  men 
equally  great,  would  fail  to  adequately  describe  its  fearful 
agonies,  unless  they  themselves  had  previously  suffered  them  in 
their  own  persons. 

In  many  things,  in  most  things,  in  this  life,  exaggeration  is 
possible,  and  in  mc»st  cases  does  more  harm  than  good.  But 
believe  me,  dear  reader,  in  the  case  of  mania  a  potu  exaggera- 


A  MAN   WHO  HAD   "  BEEN  IN  DELL  "   ALREADY.      305 

tion  is  simply  impossible,  ami  entirely  out  of  the  question.  I 
have  read  various  descriptions  of  it  in  romances,  temperance 
books,  and  medical  journals ;  but  I  have  never  yet  read  any 
thing  that  conveys  faithfully  its  horrors.  I  have  even  witnessed 
an  attempt  to  depict  its  agonies  on  the  stage,  —  an  attenipt 
made  by  a  very  clever  actor ;  but  it  fell  far  short  of  the  reality. 

Oh!  if  this  book  of  mine  should  fail  of  every  other  effect 
upon  every  other  man,  woman,  or  child,  save  the  one  effect 
of  keeping  one  human  being  free  of  delirium  tremens,  I  would 
gladly  feel  that  it  liad  not  been  written  in  vain. 

It  is  recorded  of  a  certain  man,  that  he  had  been  for  years 
an  infidel,  and  had  been  particularly  merry  at  the  expense  of  the 
orthodox  idea  of  a  place  of  torment.  He  had  scoffed  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  hell,  and  had  regarded  his  half-dozen  or  so  argu- 
ments against  its  existence  as  unanswerable.  But  one  time  he 
suffered  from  an  attack  of  delirium  tremens ;  and,  from  the  date 
of  his  recovery  from  this  attack,  he  became  a  firm  advocate  of 
Calvinism,  and  was  one  of  the  stanchest  believers  in  the  possi- 
bility, nay,  the  actuality,  of  a  hell.  And  he  used  to  sa}',  on  the 
subject  being  alluded  to,  that  he  had  the  strongest  possible  rea- 
son for  his  change  of  belief;  for  he  was  wont  to  remark,  allud- 
ing to  his  sufferings  in  delirium  tremens,  "  I  have  been  in  hell 
already." 

True,  this  tremens  is  "only  a  nervous"  disorder:  true,  its 
horrors  exist  only  in  the  "  imagination  "  of  the  sufferer.  But 
all  this  is  merely  a  verbal  description,  a  definition  of  a  fact : 
it  does  not  alter  or  affect  the  fact  itself  in  the  slightest.  The 
mere  explanation,  that  the  tortures  of  mania  a  potic  are  self- 
caused,  are  created  by  the  very  creature's  acts  vrho  suffers  from 
them,  does  not  change  the  quality  or  the  quantity  of  these 
tortures. 

As  a  rule,  the  delirium  tremens  is  immediately  preceded  by 
an  attack  of  what  is  familiarly  and  forcibly  styled  "  the  hor- 


306  •'  TnE  IIORROBS." 

TOYS."  There  never  was  a  more  appropriate  name, — horrors 
unutterable,  the  horror  of  horrors.  There  is  no  pain,  no  physi- 
cr.l  pain,  accompanying  these  "  horrors."  They  are  only  a  de- 
pression of  all  the  vital  forces  at  once,  —  a  depression  of  all 
the  nervous,  intellectual,  and  spiritual  forces,  an  intense  feeble- 
ness and  hopelessness  and  helplessness,  a  shrinking  at,  a  loath- 
ing of,  every  thing  and  everybody,  especially  one's  own  self. 
A  most  "horrible"  state  indeed,  which  often  impels  the  sin- 
ning sufferer  to  suicide. 

But  these  "  horrors  "  are  but  the  prelude  to  the  terrors  of 
delirium.  Bad  as  they  are,  they  are  only  a  negative  state; 
whereas,  in  delirium  itself,  the  terrors  are  active,  abnormally, 
awfully  positiv(i. 

The  stomach  of  the  sufferer  has  become  by  this  time  coated 
with,  or,  rather,  the  coat  of  the  stomach  has  been  burned  away 
by,  alcohol ;  he  cannot  eat ;  he  has  lost  all  desire  for  food ;  he 
cannot  retain  food  in  his  stomach  ;  while  his  poor,  heated  brain 
becomes  abnormally,  awfully  active. 

The  poor  victim  of  alcoholic  drink  cannot  find  rest,  even  in 
sleep ;  he  cannot  sleep ;  he  is  as  wide  awake  at  midnight  as 
at  mid-day;  he  is  restless,  —  abnormally,  awfully  restless;  he 
cannot  keep  still ;  his  muscles  are  twitching  ceaselessly ;  his 
body  is  as  wildly  active  in  a  diseased  wa^'  as  his  mind;  he 
talks  incessantly. 

And  at  last  he  goes  alcohol-mad,  liquor-insane.  This  alco- 
hol-madness, this  liquor-insanity,  constitutes  delirium  tremens. 

During  this  madness  the  appearance  of  the  sufferer  is  fright- 
ful. His  eyes  glare  wildly,  his  body  quivers,  his  hands  trem- 
ble, his  legs  writhe.  He  is  in  a  constant  state  of  agitation,  or 
shaking :  hence  the  vulgar  but  expressive  term  applied  to  the 
fearful  phenomenon,  "  the  shakes." 

But  his  inward  state  is  far  more  fearful  than  its  outward 
manifestations.     He  literally  suffers  the  agonies  of  the  daimned. 


A  PEN-PirTURE  OF  DELIRIUM  TREMENS.  807 

That  phrase  sums  up  the  situation.  I  could  say  uo  more  if  I 
used  words  for  a  \v<3ek. 

Some  years  ago  an  artist  died  in  tlie  city  of  Philadelphia 
from  an  attack  of  mania  a  potu.  In  the  earlier  stage  of  liis 
attack,  before  he  became  utterly  unmanageable,  he  seized  his 
brush  and  canvas,  and  depicted  some  of  the  awful  objects 
which  filled  liis  sphere  of  vision.  That  canvas  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  a  physician  in  Philadelphia,  and  far  surpasses  in 
sublimity  of  agony  and  terror  any  illustration  of  Dante's  "In- 
ferno "  ov  "  Paradise  Lost  "  by  Gustave  Dord. 

A  writer  for  the  public  press,  a  New- York  journalist,  was 
once  self-driven  to  delirium  tremens.  After  his  recovery  he 
wrote  an  article  descriptive  of  the  vagaries  of  his  imagination 
during  his  delirium.  In  his  article  he  says,  "When  I  stretched 
myself  on  my  bed,  and  closed  my  eyes,  and  willed,  with  all  my 
power  of  will,  to  sleep,  lo !  I  would  feel  myself  dragged  down 
—  down  —  down  —  to  infinite  depths  of  utter  darkness  at  in- 
finite speed.  Then,  when  I  raised  myself  on  my  bed,  and  sat 
wide  awake,  lo!  I  would  feel  myself  lifted  upwards,  carried 
up  —  up  —  up  —  into  space,  as  it  were,  by  the  hands  of  fiends, 
with  devilish  rapidity ;  and,  whether  I  was  rising  or  falling, 
I  would  see,  —  I  would  be  compelled  to  see,  —  ever  rising  or 
falling  with  me,  and  ever  hissing  in  my  ears,  and  ever  darting 
before  my  eyes,  a  hideous  snake,  which  never  left  me  for  three 
days  and  nights,  which  seemed  three  eternities  of  torture." 
After  such  an  experience  as  this,  is  it  any  wonder  that  the 
journalist,  when  he  came  to  his  senses,  algured  liquor,  as  a 
cursed  thing,  forever.  And  would  to  God  that  all  who  have 
sinned  and  suffered  like  him  would,  like  him,  abjure  forever 
after  the  cursed  cause  of  their  sins  and  sufferings ! 

But  —  and  perhaps  this  is  the  most  terrible  fact  about  delir- 
ium tremens  —  men  have  been  known  to  recover  from  the  effects 
of  an  attack  of  mania  a  potu,  and  yet  deliberately  set  to  work  — 


808  A   VISIONARY  MENAGERIE. 

or  to  drink  —  to  invite  and  bring  on  another  attack.  Is  thia 
sheer  deviltry,  or  absolute  insanity,  or  both? 

Alas!  I  have  been  in  my  own  person  an  example  of  this 
"sheer  deviltr-  "  and  "absolute  insanity"  combined;  for,  as  the 
reader  will  see,  I  have  at  different  periods  of  my  career  been 
a  self-devoted  victim  to  the  unutterable  horrors  of  delirium 
tremens. 

This,  my  first  attack,  was  very  severe.  As  I  lay  in  my  bed 
I  saw  horrid,  scowling  faces  of  lions,  tigers,  and  bears  on  the 
walls  of  my  room.  I  was  surrounded  day  and  night  by  a  vis- 
ionary menagerie  more  extensive  and  more  varied  and  more 
fierce  than  liarnum's ;  for,  in  my  case,  the  wild  beasts  were  loose, 
and  had  no  keepers. 

And  ever  and  anon,  amid  the  howling,  raging  beasts,  would 
appear  the  form  of  some  blood-red  devil,  crying  out,  —  I  heard 
the  words  distinctly :  I  can  hear  them  in  my  memory  yet,  — 
"  Drink  rum,  and  die,  you  scoundrel ! "  Then  the  blood-red 
demon  would  gaze  at  me  with  an  infernal  sneer,  that  would 
have  made  the  fame  and  fortune  of  any  Mephistopheles  upon 
the  stage.  And  then  he  would  vanish,  only  to  be  succeeded 
by  some  other  more  infernal  monster.  And  I,  poor  I !  would 
shrink  and  shudder  with  an  anguish  that  can  never  be  told 
before  their  burning  gaze.  Yes,  there  was  a  hell.  Hell  was 
around  me,  and  I  was  in  it.  The  cold  sweat  would  start  from 
every  pore,  and  I  would  vainly  but  fervently  pray  for  death. 
And  yet  I  lived,  ay,  lived  to  deliberately  resuifer  these  horrors, 
and  re-create  them. 

God  have  mercy  on  us  !  We  are  indeed  fearfully  and  won- 
derfully made. 

At  last  I  recovered  from  my  delirium,  though  with  broken 
health  and  shattered  nervous  system,  and  once  more  faced  the 
material  necessities  of  life  and  poverty. 

And  once  more  the  ever-bountiful  Providence,  which  had 


ANOTHER  CHANCE  SPOILED.  809 

80  generously  given  me  opportunity  after  opportunity  which 
I  had  wasted,  allowed  me  one  opportunity  the  more. 

A  kind  friend,  who  had  aided  mo  pecuniarily  in  Boston,  now 
came  to  my  help  here  in  New  York,  and  leaned  me  money 
wherewith  to  sublet  a  furnished  house  at  27  V/est  Fourth  Street, 
next  door  to  the  private  office  of  the  famous  Commodore 
Vandcrbilt,  whom  I  occasionally  saw  entering  or  leaving  his 
office.  I  envied  the  sturdy  old  commodore  his  wealth,  but  even 
more  I  envied  him  his  health ;  forgetting  that  the  health,  as 
well  as  the  wealth,  was  but  the  natural  result  of  the  veteran's 
constant  and  undeviating  attention,  alike  to  the  laws  of  busi- 
ness and  the  body.  Whatever  else  he  was  or  was  not,  it  will 
not  be  denied  that  Commodore  Vanderbilt  was  always  "  good 
to  himself."  All  the  Vanderbilts  are  famous  for  being  "  good 
to  themselves."  But  a  drunkard  never  can  be  "good  to  him- 
self "  or  to  anybody  else. 

For  a  period,  while  tlie  awful  experience  of  my  delirium 
was  still  fresh  upon  me,  I  refrained  from  drink,  and  really  tried 
to  attend  to  business.  But  the  scheme  of  subletting  the  fur- 
nished house  in  Fourth  Street  did  not  prove  remunerative. 
So  I  changed  my  locality,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  kind  friend, 
who  still  adhered  to  me,  hired  another  furnished  house  at  130 
Adams  Street,  Brooklyn. 

Would  you  believe  it?  Alas!  who  would  believe  it,  except- 
ing those  who  know  what  intemperance  is,  and  human  nature? 
By  this  time  I  had  forced  myself  to  forget  temporarily  the 
horrors  of  mania  a  potu,  and  had  taken  to  drinking  heavily 
again. 

The  inevitable  result  followed.  The  house  in  Brooklyn  had 
to  be  given  up  in  less  than  a  month ;  and  I  was  literally  "  in 
the  street "  agfiin,  having  lost  all  my  chances  and  all  my  friends. 
A  man  cannot  go  on  having  chances  and  spoiling  them,  having 
friends  and  abusing  their  friendship,  forever.     This  was  my 


810  IN  A   "  BTATION-nOUBE"  FOR  SHELTER. 

last  speculation.  I  had  no  further  chances  or  friends  or  cash 
or  credit  to  speculate  with  now.  To  use  the  common  expres- 
sion, *'  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  rope."  Perhaps  the  horrora 
of  the  extreme  poverty  I  now  experienced  saved  me  from  the 
even  worse  horrors  of  another  attack  of  mania  a  potu^  a  second 
case  of  which  I  would  probably  have  experienced  if  I  had 
had  money  or  credit  enough  now  to  get  at  the  liquor.  But, 
although  perforce  saved  from  the  terrors  of  delirium,  I  came 
very  near  to  undergoing  tlie  terrors  of  absolute  starvation.  I 
passed  many  a  day  without  tasting  food,  save  a  stray  bite  now 
and  then,  such  as  a  wandering  dog  might  procure  prowling 
around  the  streets.  Indeed,  just  at  this  time  I  was  more  like  a 
dog  than  a  human  being.  I  had  acted  like  a  beast,  and  it  was 
but  just  that  I  should  be  treated  as  a  beast. 

.Oh  the  agonies  and  oh  the  shame  of  this  terrible  period 
of  my  life !  This  homeless,  friendless,  moneyless,  hopeless, 
period  of  my  career!  All  day  long  I  tramped,  tramped,  tramped, 
without  a  purpose  in  tramping  \  and  all  night  long  I  tramped, 
tramped,  tramped,  because  I  had  nowhei'e  to  go  except  the 
station-houses ;  and  even  my  tramp's  soul  revolted  at  sleeping 
in  them  with  the  wretches  that  used  them  as  a  night's  resort. 

I  had  applied  once  to  a  station-house  for  shelter :  but,  after 
undergoing  a  terribly  humiliating  questioning  by  the  police- 
official,  I  found  myself  lierded  with  such  a  set  of  foul  and 
filthy  wretches,  —  as  foul  in  mind  as  filthy  in  body,  —  that  I  got 
xip  from  the  floor  on  winch  I  had  thrown  myself  for  a  short 
sleep,  necessitated  by  the  fatigues  I  had  experienced  (it  was 
my  first  sleep  for  forty-eight  hours),  and  walked  away,  out 
into  the  wet  night;  preferring  the  inclement  weather  to  the 
human  race,  or  such  a  portion  of  it  as  slept  in  the  station- 
houses. 

Night-life  in  a  station-house  or  police-station  is  a  prominent, 
or  at  least  striking,  feature  of  city  existence,  especially  of  New- 


"  STATIOy-nOUSE  LODGERS."  811 

York  city-lifo.  As  a  jourimlLst  remarked  in  nn  elaborate  article 
on  this  subject,  "  This  variety  of  existence  illustrates  some  of 
the  most  tragic  and  some  of  the  most  comic  features  imagina- 
ble ; "  and  he  is  correct.  I  have  subsequently  examined  curi- 
ously the  records  of  some  of  the  station-houses,  and  Imve 
found  the  particulars,  among  others,  of  the  following  cases. 
They  will  fully  illustrate  the  subject,  and  will  point  the  moral, — 
the  ever  oUl,  tlie  ever  new,  moral,  —  that  the  love  of  liquor, 
even  more  than  the  love  of  money,  is  the  root  of  all  evil. 

An  old  woman  by  the  name  of  Carson,  seventy-two  years  of  age, 
with  gray  hair,  but  comparatlvoly  hale  and  hearty,  has  been  fre- 
quently arrested  at  tlio  request  of  her  own  son,  and  brotiijht  to  the 
station.  She  was  constantly  roaming  tlie  streets  as  a  vagrant,  obtain- 
ing money,  getting  drunk  witli  it,  and  then  coming  home,  and  beating 
her  husband,  who  was  partially  insane.  The  old  woman  resisted  the 
ofllcers  of  the  law  with  all  her  might,  and  was  obliged  to  be  carried 
to  her  cell  by  the  main  force  and  joint  efforts  of  tln*ee  policemen ; 
her  son  standing  by  and  looking  on  all  tlie  while.  This  unfortunate 
was  the  mother  of  ten  children,  and  was,  when  sober,  a  respectable 
personage  ;  but  then,  she  was  seldom  sober. 

Another  sad  case  was  tliut  of  fSusan  Anthony  (no  connection  what- 
ever of,  or  relation  to,  the  distinguished  Susan  B.  Anthony),  a  young 
and  rather  pretty  female,  who  is  in  the  habit  of  indulging  in  iieriodical 
spells  of  vagrancy.  During  these  "  attacks  "  she  invariably  becomes 
grossly  intoxicated,  and  then  goes  home  to  her  mother,  a  quiet,  timid 
old  lady,  abuses  her  dreadfully,  and  even  threatening  her  life.  She 
has  been  taken  to  the  station-house  repeatedly,  and  at  last  was  sent 
to  the  Island. 

Among  the  "  funny  "  cases  recorded  is  that  of  a  notorious  female 
beggar  and  vagrant,  who  was  arrested  for  drunkenness,  and  taken  to 
the  station-house.  She  remained  there  for  several  daj's  and  nights  ; 
and  though  she  was  thoroughly  searched,  and  no  bottle  with  liquor 
of  any  description  found  in  her  possession,  and  althougli  no  spirits 
were  allowed  to  reach  her  from  any  outside  source  whatever,  still  the 


812  THE  "  VAOttANT"  DOCTOR. 

woman  romainod  as  dniiik  na  wlii'ii  slu'  wiih  first 'arro«to»l :  or,  if  thorp 
wiiM  tioy  cliiin^u  iu  Ucv  coiKlilioii,  it  wuh  Unit  hIiu  wtis  dninltcr  tliun 
over.  Wlio  rouid  expliiiu  tliu  niyHtory?  C'ortuinly,  tin'  polico  coidd 
not.  Was  tliiH  u  nt'w  and  iiiL'.\[)iicul)lu  Hpirituid  plioiioiiu-iion?  Wiio 
could  toll  ?  A  dozen  iiypotlu'sirt  wore  utartud ;  but  tla-ru  was  only 
one  thing  certain,  and  timt  was  tlic  fact  of  tlie  woman's  seemingly 
cndlcHH  dninkenness.  At  last  a  light  dawned:  a  l>ri!liunt  idea 
flashed  across  the  brain  of  the  sergeant  of  the  ward.  He  cidled  a 
woman  to  ins  aid,  and  suggested  his  idea.  The  femal(!  friend  as- 
sumed tlie  taslt  proposed.  She  proceeded,  not  only  to  search  tlior- 
oughly  tlie  clothes  of  the  drunken  creature  (wliieh  had  itcen  previously 
attcnipted),  but  to  strii)  her  entirely,  and  examine  her  person;  and 
then,  and  not  till  then,  was  the  mysteiy  exi)lained.  A  gia-l)ottle, 
now  nearly  empty,  was  foimd  suspended  from  her  waist  by  a  string, 
which  had  l)ccn,  during  tlie  search  by  the  olllcers,  concealed  lictwcen 
her  limbs,  and  had  thus  escaped  detection.  The  bottle  being  re- 
moved, its  owner  soon  recovered. 

Another  case  to  wliicli  we  can  but  briefly  allude  is,  that  one  of  the 
most  eminent  physicians  of  this  city,  wiio,  though  enj -ying  a  lucra- 
tive practice,  indulges  in  liquor  to  excess,  aud  has  often  been  found 
lying  in  the  street-gutters  late  at  night,  and  been  arrested  as  a 
vagrant.  One  morning,  after  passing  u  niglit  in  the  station-house, 
the  doctor,  who  was  then  unknown  to  the  oHlcers,  having  been  taken 
in  his  torn  and  muddy  clothes  to  the  magistrate,  fined  and  repri- 
manded, was  discharged.  Going  from  the  court-room,  he  saw  a 
carriage  with  a  coachman  in  livery,  and  two  fa8liional)ly  dressed  ladies 
within  it.  Without  more  ado,  the  doctor  walked  to  the  carriage,  and 
endeavored  to  get  into  it.  The  policeman,  astonished,  endeavored  to 
prevent  him,  when  lo  and  behold !  to  the  policeman's  unutterable 
surprise,  the  ladies  sweetly  smiled  upon  the  supjwsed  vagrant ;  and 
the  liveried  coachman  informed  the  ofllcer  "that  it  was  all  right." 
This  was  the  doctor's  carriage,  and  that  was  the  doctor. 

A  great  number  of  the  beggars  are  vagrants,  and  lodge  regularly 
in  the  station-houses.  Wlien  asked  for  tlieir  names,  they  generally 
give  fictitious  ones ;  and,  when  requested  to  state  whore  they  live, 


A  HUMAN  *'nEVOLVEn."  818 

they  do  not  say,  wimt  is  tlio  truth,  thnt  they  hnvo  no  homo  (for  lu 
this  CU80  they  would  be  liable  to  arrcHt  rh  vii^nuitH,  and  would  bu 
sent  to  the  Island),  hut  auHwer  that  they  live  in  I)i'(H)klyn,  or  IIolio- 
ken,  or  Bome  kindred  locality,  which  in  too  distant  to  reach  that  night, 
and  so  forth.  Tiicy  are  searched  before  bcinj;  taken  to  the  slecpinj,;; 
apartments,  but  liicy  often  contrive  to  secrete  spirits  or  tobacco  ;  and, 
as  they  are  almost  without  exception  dirty  and  diseased,  tliey  are 
a  very  disagrecalilo  addition  to  any  house  whatever,  even  tiiough  it 
be  but  a  Htation-houso.  Connnitting  them  as  vagrants  does  no  good 
whatever ;  for  the  Island  and  the  Almshouse  are  so  full  that  they 
cannot  be  there  accommodated,  and  so  they  return  after  a  few  days' 
commitment  to  their  old  round  of  the  stations.  Ihit  there  is  one 
matter  I  would  respectfully  suggest  to  the  proju'r  city  authorities ; 
and  this  is,  the  erection  of  suitalilo  buildings  for  tiie  accommodntion 
of  vagrants  outside  of  the  limits  of  the  station-liouscs ;  so  that  tlie 
vcjjiilar  members  of  the  police-force  —  a  respcctal)le  class  of  men  — 
shall  not  be  compelled  to  live  in  such  unpleusaut  proximity  to  the 
very  vilest  of  the  refuse  of  New  York. 

There  are  depths  even  in  absolute  degradation  and  wretch- 
edness ;  and  I  feci  grateful,  that,  even  amid  all  the  shames  and 
sorrows  of  the  time  of  which  I  write,  I  never  sunk  so  low  as 
to  become  a  regular  station-house  lodger,  a  "  revolver  "  as  it 
is  called,  —  a  human  "  revolver,"  —  a  so-called  human  being 
"revolving"  at  nights  from  one  station-house  to  another. 

But  Heaven  knows  I  was  low  enough ;  my  only  hope  being, 
to  watch  for  a  chance  to  do  some  "  chores  *'  for  a  bite  of  cold 
meat  or  bread,  or,  alas !  to  sweep  out  some  cheap  groggery  for 
a  glass  of  rum. 

This  sort  of  thing  could  not  have  lasted  much  longer  with 
me.  Fatigue,  famine,  and  exposure  would,  in  a  few  days  and 
nights  more,  have  finished  me,  when  I  stumbled  across  some 
men  who  had  known  me  in  my  prosperity ;  and  the  contrast 
between  my  appearance  now  and  my  appearance  then  struck 


814  THE  INEBMIATE  ASYLUM. 

them  so  forcibly,  that,  taking  care  of  me  temporarily,  and  con- 
sulting with  my  relatives,  it  was  finally  determined  to  send  me 
to  the  Inebriate  Asylum  on  "Ward's  Island,  a  plan  to  which 
I  heartily  assented.  I  did  not  expect  to  be  really  cured  of  my 
desire  for  liquor.  I  did  not  even,  so  degraded  had  I  become, 
desire  to  be  cured  of  my  desire.  But  at  least  I  would  have 
food  and  shelter.  I  would  not  be  a  vagrant  and  a  tramp  any 
longer.  So  I  gladly  accepted  the  kind  offer  of  my  former 
friends  and  associates,  and  pretended  the  necessary  contrition 
for  the  past,  and  the  expected  determination  to  reform  in  the 
future  And  having  been  applied  for  under  a  fictitious  name, — 
the  only  time  I  ever  accepted  a  fictitious  name,  save  when  I 
visited  pawn-shops,  —  and  a  month's  pay  having  been  handed 
over  for  my  board  in  advance,  I  found  myself  an  inmate  of 
the  Inebriate  Asylum  "  on  the  Island." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"on  the  island." — THE  PENITENTIARY. —THE  ALMSHOUSE  AND  THE 
HOUSE  OF  KEFUGE.  — "  RUxM  DOES  IT." — LIGHTS  AND  SHADES  OF  THE 
LUNATIC  ASYLUSL  —  "ISLAND"  NOTOIUETIES.  —  A  VAIN  ATTEMPT  TO 
CUBE  THE  DKINKING-HABIT.  —  NEW  YORK  AND  BUM  ONCE  MORE. 

*'  The  Islands,"  used  in  the  New- York-municipality's  meaning 
of  the  words,  embrace  some  of  the  finest  portions  of  that  vast 
collection  and  aggregation  of  land,  buildings,  and  humanity 
known  as  New  York.  Had  the  original  owners  of  "  the 
Islands,"  Ward,  Randall,  el>c.,  after  whom  they  are  named, 
been  gifted  with  what  the  Germans  style  "far  sight,"  they 
never  would  have  parted  with  their  lands  at  the  comparatively 
small  prices  which  they  did.  And,  had  the  city  of  New  York 
been  truly  wise,  it  would  never  have  surrendered  its  fairest 
possessions  to  the  exclusive  use  of  paupers,  criminals,  inebriates, 
and  lunatics.  Think  what  those  islands  would  have  been 
worth,  cash  down,  to  die  Wards  and  _iandalls  to-vlay.  Think 
what  a  magnificent  series  of  public  parks  these  islands  would 
have  formed  And  yet  perhaps  it  is  a  fortunate  dispensation 
of  Providence,  that  the  "poor  devils"  of  the  New- York  com- 
munity are  permitted,  under  the  existing  order  of  things,  to 
enjoy  the  unrivalled  location  of  these  islands ;  for  it  is  about 
the  only  thing  left  them  to  enjoy. 

The  three  islands.  Black  well's,  Ward's  and  Randall's,  in  the 
Fast  River,  are  among  the  most  justly  noticeable  features  of 
the  metropolis,  and  offer  many  attractions  to  the  visitor,  as 
well  ae  present  much  material  for  the  thoughtful  observer. 

316 


316  THE  NEW-YORK  PKNITENTIART. 

One  of  the  buildings  on  Blackwell's  Island  is  the  most  be- 
neficently terrible  place  in  America.  I  allude  to  the  small-pox 
hospital.  While  the  charity  hospital  is  one  of  the  largest  and 
best-conducted  institutions  in  the  world,  one  of  the  many- 
charities  which  constitute  the  true  boast  of  New  York.  And 
back  of  this  magnificent  charity  hospital  stands  that  gloomy 
and  massive  structure,  the  New-York  Penitentiary,  where,  alas ! 
although  there  are  many  sinners  and  sufferers,  I  fear  there  are 
but  few  "  penitents." 

The  prisoners  in  the  penitentiary  are  divided  into  classes, 
according  to  their  offences,  and,  though  amenable  to  the  same 
laws  and  discipline,  work  in  separate  gangs,  and  mess  sep- 
arately. They  are  under  the  control  of  heavily  armed  keepers, 
whose  will  is  indeed  law.  At  six  o'clock  the  prisoners  are 
paraded  to  roll-call.  At  half-past  six  they  have  their  "  break- 
fast" of  dry  bread  and  a  bowl  of  coffee;  and  then  they  are 
portioned  off  to  a  day's  hard  toil,  —  some  to  the  blacksmith's, 
carpenter's,  tailor's,  and  weaver's  shops ;  some  to  labor  in  the 
gardens  and  fields,  and  the  rest  to  the  quarries;  the  female 
prisoners  being  occupied  in  the  sewing-room,  in  the  brush- 
manufactory,  in  washing  clothes,  or  in  scrubbing  and  chamber- 
work.  The  majority  of  the  prisoners  are  committed  for  assault 
and  battery  or  for  larceny,  for  terms  varying  from  one  month 
to  four  years.  The  drunkards,  vagrants,  and  disorderly  charac- 
ters, are  sent  to  the  workhouse ;  while  those  committed  for 
graver  offences  are  destined  for  Sing-Sing  prison.  About 
one-third  of  the  prisoners  at  the  penitentiary  are  of  Irish 
extraction ;  not  over  one-tenth  are  German ;  and  all,  almost 
without  exception,  are  drinking,  heavily  drinking  men.  There 
are  vastly  more  male  than  female  prisoners,  and  most  of  the  male 
prisoners  are  young.  There  is  one  fact,  in  this  connection,  highly 
suggestive  to  the  housekeepers  of  New  Y'ork,  —  three-fourths  of 
the  female  prisoners  are,  or  were,  domestics,  house-servants. 


TUE  PUBLIC  INSTITUTIONS.  817 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  prisoners  "  dine  "  on  a  can  of  soup,  a 
plate  of  meat,  and  ten  ounces  of  bread.  At  five  they  have 
what  serves  for  supper;  and  at  six  —  or  five-thirty  —  they  are 
locked  in  their  narrow  cells  for  the  night.  These  cells  are 
comparatively  clean,  but  positively  small,  —  too  small  for  any 
liuman  being,  even  if  a  prisoner,  to  pass  half  his  time  in  them. 

On  Sundays  the  men  and  women  are  confined  in  their  cells 
all  day,  save  when  led  to  chapel.  Their  Sundays  are  the  only 
idle  and  the  most  lonely  and  dismal  days  of  the  week,  and 
they  consequently  hate  the  A'^ery  name  of  Sunday.  Is  there  not 
something  wrong  in  a  system  like  this? 

The  convicts  have  absolutely  no  privileges  whatever.  Their 
lives  have  but  three  elements,  —  hard  work  ;  harder  loneliness ; 
and,  hardest  of  all,  monotony. 

One  text  is  practically  carried  out  in  this  institution :  "  The 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard."  But  is  there  not  a  better 
motto  than  this,  which  should  be  likewise  practically  illus- 
trated ?  —  "  Ji  i8  never  too  late  to  mend.'^ 

Beyond  the  penitentiary  stretch  the  almshouses.  They  are 
highly  spoken  of,  officially  at  least.  No  such  horrors  have 
ever  been  perpetrated  in  them  as  Gov.  Gen.  Butler  hac  un- 
earthed at  Tewksbury. 

Attached  to  the  almshouses  are  the  hospitals  for  incura  oles, 
fine  institutions  of  their  peculiar  kind. 

Connected  with  the  almsliouse  management  is  the  bureau 
for  the  relief  of  the  outdoor  poor,  which  conducts  its  truly 
benevolent  and  well-organized  operations  through  the  entire 
city  of  New  York. 

In  the  rear  of  the  almshouse  is  the  workhouse,  about  as 
nearly  perfect  of  its  sort  as  can  well  be  attained  to  in  this 
world.  But  the  statistics  connected  with  it  are  simply  fright- 
ful. Think  of  it.  About  twenty  thousand  persons  are  com- 
mitted to  this  workhouse  every  year,  ten  days  being  the  aver- 


318  .  BUM  DOES  IT. 

age  term  of  coramitment.  Comparatively  few  committed  are  of 
American  birth.  The  majority  are  Irish  and  German,  and 
drunkenness  is  hi/ far  the  chief  cause  of  their  commitment. 

Yes,  rum  does  it.  Rum  sends  over  eigliteen  thousand  of 
the  twenty  thousand  to  the  workhouse.  And  it  is  rum  that 
chiefly  serves  to  keep  tlie  penitentiary  full.  As  in  New  York, 
so  in  London,  so  in  Paris,  so  in  Boston,  so  in  Philadelphia,  so 
everywhere  else.  It  is  rum,  rum,  rum,  that  fills  the  almshouses, 
asylums,  jails.  It  is  rum,  rum,  rum,  that  makes  men  fools  and 
knaves.  It  is  rum,  rum,  rum,  that  renders  them  idle,  dissolute, 
worthless,  vicious,  criminal,  wretched.  It  is  rum  that  has 
always  done  it,  it  is  rum  that  is  doing  it.  And  it  is  rum  that 
will  continue  to  do  it  till  there  are  no  more  rum-drinkers  and 
rum-sellers. 

On  Randall's  Island  stands  the  House  of  Refuge,  —  a  very 
handsome  series  of  edifices,  in  the  Italian  style  of  architecture. 

The  commissioners  of  public  charities  and  correc'  ,  in  one  of 
their  recent  reports,  made  the  startling  announcemenL  that  there  are 
no  less  than  sixty  tbousaud  children  in  the  city  of  New  York  grow- 
ing up  in  ignorance  and  idleness.  These  children,  influenced  from 
their  cradles  by  the  most  terrible  surroundings,  have  no  alternative 
but  to  become  beggars  and  thieves  almost  as  soon  as  they  can  run 
alone.  Tiiousands  of  them  are  orplians,  or  perhaps  worse  ;  for  they 
are  often  the  children  of  parents,  who,  ignoring  the  laws  of  nature, 
use  them  for  the  purpose  of  furthering  their  own  vicious  ends.  They 
live  piincipally  in  a  neighborhood  which  alwunds  in  lodging-houses 
for  sailors,  the  lowest  class  of  liquor-stores,  dancing  and  concert 
rooms,  and  various  other  low  places  of  amusement,  —  a  neighborhood 
swarming  with  brothels,  whose  wretched  inmates  are  permitted  to 
flaunt  their  ein  and  finerj',  nnd  ply  their  hateful  trade  openly,  by  day 
and  nignt ;  where  at  midnight  the  quarrels,  fights,  and  disturbances 
are  so  noisy  and  so  frequent  that  none  can  hope  for  a  night's  rest 
until  they  are  mured  by  habit ;  where,  night  after  night,  they  witness 


THE  HOUSE  OF  REFUGE.  319 

the  most  desperate  encounters  between  drunken  men  and  women, 
kicking,  biting,  and  tearing  one  another's  hair  out,  as  they  roll 
together  in  the  gutter,  or,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  using  deadly  weap- 
ons ;  and  where  the  crowd,  instead  of  interfering  to  stop  these  awful 
scenes,  stand  by  in  a  brutal  enjoyment  of  them,  abetting  and  encour- 
aging the  principal  actors  therein.  And  their  homes,  what  are  they? 
Their  fathers,  often  out  of  work,  are  unable  to  support  their  fami- 
lies ;  their  clothes,  their  bedding,  their  furniture,  all  gone  to  the 
pawn-shop ;  father,  mother,  and  children  are  often  compelled  to 
sleep  on  the  bare  boards,  huddling  close  together  for  warmth  in  one 
ill-built,  ill-ventilated  room.  Amid  their  misery,  this  neglect  of  the 
common  decencies  of  life,  this  unblusliing  effrontery  of  reckless  vice 
and  crime,  what  chance  have  these  poor,  unhappy  little  children  of 
becoming  decent  members  of  society  ?  They  are  sickly  from  the  want 
of  proper  nourishment,  vicious  from  example,  ignorant  because  they 
do  not  care  to  learn,  and  their  parents  take  no  trouble  to  compel 
them  to  do  so,  and  must  inevitably  grow  up,  only  to  swell  the 
already  fearful  sum-total  of  our  criminal  population.  At  ten  the 
boys  are  said  to  be  thieves :  at  fifteen  the  girls  are  said  to  be  all 
prostitutes. 

A  system  of  State  reformatories  and  State  apprenticeships  on  an 
extensive  scale  is  the  only  way  of  grappling  with  this  terrible  state 
of  things.  Such  institutions  as  the  House  of  Refuge  on  Randall's 
Island  have  done  and  are  doing  much,  but  a  dozen  such  institutions 
might  be  established  with  advantage  in  the  State  of  New  York  alone. 
On  Randall's  Island  the  young  criminal  has  the  opportunity  of  ac- 
quiring regular  habits,  and  learning  a  useful  trade.  They  are  subject 
to  a  humane,  though  strict  discipline ;  and  a  very  large  percentage, 
especially  of  the  boys,  do  undoubtedly  become  reformed.  This 
reformatory,  a  wise  combination  of  school  and  prison,  can  accom- 
modate one  thousand  inmates.  There  are  at  present  about  eight 
hundred  boys  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  girls  on  the  register.  The 
boys'  building  is  divided  into  two  compartments  :  the  first  division,  in 
the  one,  is  thus  entirely  separated  from  the  second  division,  in  the 
other  compartment.     The  second  division  is  composed  of  those  whose 


820  DETAILS  OF  "REFORMATORY"  LIFE. 

characters  are  decidecUy  bad,  or  whose  offence  was  groat.  A  boy 
may,  by  good  conduct,  however,  get  promoted  from  the  second  into 
the  first  division.  As  a  rule,  the  second  division  are  niucli  older  than 
the  first.  Each  division  is  divided  into  four  grades.  Every  boy  on 
entering  the  Reformatory  is  placed  in  the  third  grade  ;  if  he  behaves 
well,  he  is  placed  in  the  second  in  a  w?ek,  and  a  month  after  in  the 
first  grade  ;  if  he  continues  in  a  satisfactory  course  for  three  months, 
he  is  placed  in  the  grade  of  honor,  and  wears  a  badge  on  his  breast. 
Every  boy  in  the  first  division  must  remain  six  months,  in  the  second 
division  twelve  months  in  the  first  gi-ade,  before  he  can  be  indentured 
to  any  trade.  These  two  divisions  are  under  the  charge  of  twenty- 
five  teachers  and  twenty-five  guards.  At  half-past  six  o'clock  the 
cells  are  all  unlocked ;  every  one  reports  himself  to  the  overseer, 
and  then  goes  to  the  lavatories ;  at  seven,  after  parading,  they  are 
marched  to  the  schoolrooms,  to  join  in  religious  exercises  for  half  an 
hour ;  at  half-past  seven  *hey  have  breakfast,  and  at  eight  are  told 
off  to  the  work-shops,  where  they  remain  till  twelve,  when  .they  again 
parade,  previous  to  going  to  dinner.  For  dinner  they  have  a  large 
plate  of  excellent  soup,  a  small  portion  of  meat,  a  small  loaf  of  bread, 
and  a  mug  of  water.  At  one  o'clock  they  return  to  their  work. 
When  they  have  completed  their  allotted  task  they  are  allowed  to 
play  till  four,  when  they  have  supper.  At  half-past  four  they  go  to 
school,  where  they  remain  till  eight  o'clock,  the  time  for  going  to  bed. 
Each  boy  has  a  separate  cell,  which  is  locked  and  barred  at  night. 
The  cells  are  in  long,  lofty,  woU-vcntilated  corridors ;  each  corridor 
containing  one  hundred  cells.  The  doors  of  the  cells  are  all  grated, 
in  order  that  tiie  boys  may  have  light  and  air,  and  also  be  under  the 
direct  supervision  of  the  officers,  who,  though  very  strict,  apparently 
know  well  how  to  temper  strictness  with  kindness.  Before  going  to 
bed,  half  an  hour  is  again  devoted  to  religious  exercises,  singing 
hymns,  reading  the  Bible,  etc.  There  is  a  large  chapel,  where  the 
services  are  conducted  on  Sunday ;  the  girls  having  the  gallery  to 
themselves.  There  is,  however,  no  Catholic  service.  This,  surely, 
is  not  right.  At  the  Penitentiary  on  BlackweU's  Island  they  have 
service  once  a  month  for  the  Catholics.     Of   the  six  hundred  and 


TUE  liEFUCrE  "  WOTtKSnOP."  821 

pighty-two  cliiklren  committed  from  tlie  courts  during  the  yea'-  1HG7, 
no  less  tlian  four  hundred  and  fourteen  were  Irish ;  and,  in  all  proba- 
bility,  a  large  proportion  of  these  were  Roman  Catholics.  Institutions 
of  this  character  should  certainly  be  made  as  unsectarian  as  possible. 
One  of  the  most  interesting,  and,  at  the  same  time,  one  of  the 
most  important,  features  of  the  Refuge,  is  the  workshop.  On  enter- 
ing the  shop,  the  visitor  is  amused  by  finding  a  lot  of  little  ureliins 
occupied  in  making  ladies'  hoop-skirts  of  the  latest  fashionable 
design.  Nearly  a  hundred  are  engaged  in  the  crinoline  department. 
In  the  sau)c  long  room,  about  fifty  are  weaving  wire  for  sifting 
cotton,  making  wire  sieves,  rat-traps,  gridirons,  flower-baskets,  cattle- 
noses,  etc.  The  principal  work,  however,  is  carried  on  in  the  boot 
and  shoe  department.  The  labor  of  the  boys  is  let  out  to  contract- 
ors, who  supi>ly  their  own  foremen  to  teach  the  boys  and  8ui)erintond 
the  work :  but  the  society  have  their  own  men  to  keep  order,  and 
correct  the  boj's  when  necessary ;  the  contractors'  men  not  being 
allowed  to  interfere  with  tiiem  in  any  way  whatever.  There  are  five 
hundred  and  ninety  boys  in  this  department.  They  manage,  on  an 
average,  to  turn  out  about  twentj'-flve  hundred  pairs  of  boots  and 
shoes  daily,  which  are  mostly  shipped  to  the  Southern  States.  Each 
one  has  a  certain  amount  of  work  allotted  to  him  in  the  mornings 
which  he  is  bound  to  complete  before  foin*  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Some  are  ({'licker  and  more  industrious  than  others,  and  will  got  their 
work  done  by  two  o'clock  ;  this  gives  two  hours'  play  to  those  in  the- 
first  division  r  the  second  division  have  to  go  to  school,  when  they 
hav(>  finished,  till  three  o'clock ;  they  being  allowed  one  hour  only  for 
recreation.  The  authorities  are  very  anxious  to  make  arrangements, 
to  have  a  government  vessel  stationed  off  the  island,  to  be  used  as  a 
traming-sliip  for  the  most  adventurous  spirits.  If  this  design  is- 
carried  ont,  it  will  be  a  very  valuable  adjunct  to  the  working  ©f  the- 
institution,  and  will  enable  the  directors  to  take  in  many  more  boys> 
without  incurring  the  expense  of  extending  the  present  buildings. 
The  girls  are  also  emploj'ed  in  making  hoojvskirts,  in  making  clothes 
for  ther"selves  and  the  boys,  in  all  sorts  of  repairing,  in  wfthing 
linen,  and  in  general  housework.     The  girls  are  generally  less  tracta- 


822  "DAD  BOYS." 

ble  tlmn  the  boys  :  perhaps  this  is  apcountod  for  l)y  thoir  hoinp;  older, 
some  of  them  being  as  imieh  ns  five  or  six  and  twenty.  Tlie  boys 
average  about  tliirteen  or  fourteen,  tlie  girls  seventeen  or  eighteen, 
years  of  age.  Nearly  two-thirds  of  the  boys  have  been  Ijoot-bhieks, 
the  remainder  mostly  what  are  teehnieally  known  as  "  wharf-rats." 
Some  of  them  are  now  in  the  house  for  the  third  tune.  One,  a  lad 
only  fifteen  years  of  age,  has  passed  one  year  in  a  juvenile  asylum, 
four  years  in  a  refornuvtory,  and  is  now  at  Kandall's  Ifsiand.  Another 
has  been  three  times  eonvicted  of  horse-stealing.  He  would,  late  at 
night,  ask  permission  to  sleep  in  a  stid)le.  He  is  a  eomplete  cripple, 
and  by  attracting  sympathy  his  request  was  often  granted.  When 
every  one  had  left  the  place  he  would  quietly  open  the  door,  and  lead 
out  tlie  horses.  On  each  occasion  that  he  was  convicted  he  managed 
to  get  off  with  three  horses.  Another  little  fellow,  only  six  years 
old,  with  a  chum,  broke  into  a  pipe-store,  and  stole  a  hundred  and 
fifty  meerschaum  pipes  :  he  was,  however,  detected  while  t)  ying  to  dis- 
pose of  them.  There  is  a  colored  lad,  alwut  eighteen,  who  is  very 
amusing.  He  is  a  great  orator,  and  addtesses  the  others  on  all 
subjects,  both  general  and  political.  On  one  occasion,  when  the 
principal  ventured  to  ask  him  whom  he  had  adopted  as  his  model  for 
speaking,  he  grandly  replied,  "  I  will  have  you  to  know,  sir,  that  I 
am  no  servile  imitator."  Some  of  the  boys  cannot  overcome  their 
thieving  propensities,  but  will,  even  in  the  Refuge,  purloin  things  that 
can  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  them,  if  they  get  the  chance.  Tliey  are 
very  quick  and  expert.  Only  a  few  days  ago  one  of  the  boys  fell 
down  in  a  fit  in  the  schoolroom.  Some  of  the  others  assisted  the 
teacher  to  carry  him  into  the  open  air.  Tlie  poor  fellow  had  a  collec- 
tion of  kniek-knacks  in  one  pocket,  and  about  twenty  pcnny-p'ecos  in 
the  other ;  but,  during  the  moment  that  passed  in  carrying  him  out, 
both  pockets  were  emptied.  The  directors  of  the  House  of  Refuge, 
while  having  a  due  regard  for  the  well-being  of  its  inmates,  very 
properly  take  care  that  they  are  not  so  comfortable  or  so  well  fed  as 
to  lead  them  to  remain  longer  in  the  reformatory  than  necessary.  As 
soon  4b  the  boys  appear  to  be  really  reformed,  they  are  indentured 
out  to  farmers  and  different  trades.     lu  the  year  18G7  no  less  than 


A   DOUBLE  "  SECRET."  823 

six  hundrod  and  tliirty-tliroe  boys  and  u  liimdrod  and  fortj'-six  giii^ 
Toro  started  in  life  in  tiiis  way.  Any  person  wishing  to  iiave  a  child 
iiwU'ntiired  to  him,  has  to  nialte  a  formal  application  to  the  connnittco 
to  that  oflfect,  at  the  same  time  giving  references  as  to  character,  etc. 
Inquiries  are  made  ;  and,  if  satisfactorily  answered,  the  child  is  handed 
over  to  his  custody ;  the  applicant  engaging  to  feed,  clothe,  and  edu- 
cate his  yonng  apprentice.  The  boy's  new  master  has  to  forward  a 
written  report  to  the  olHcer,  as  to  his  health  and  general  behavior 
from  time  to  time.  Jf  the  boy  does  not  do  well,  he  is  sent  l)aci<  to 
tlie  Kcfuge,  and  remains  there  till  he  is  twenty-one  years  of  age. 
Most  of  the  children,  however,  get  on  ;  and  many  of  them  have 
made  for  themselves  respectable  positions  in  society.  The  annals  of 
tlie  society  in  this  respect  are  very  gratifying  and  interesting.  .Many 
young  men  never  lose  sight  of  a  refuge  which  rescued  them  in  time 
from  a  criminal  life,  and  to  which  they  owe  almost  their  very  exist- 
ence. Instead  of  alternating  between  the  purlieus  of  Water  Street 
and  Sing  Sing,  they  are,  many  of  them,  in  a  fair  way  to  make  a 
fortune.  One  young  man  who  was  brought  up  there,  and  is  now 
thriving,  lately  called  at  the  office  to  make  arrangements  for  placing 
his  two  younger  brothers  in  the  house ;  they  having  got  into  bad  com- 
pany since  their  father's  death.  A  very  remarkable  occurrence  took 
place  at  the  institution  not  long  ago.  A  gentleman  and  his  wife, 
apparently  occupying  a  good  position  in  society,  called  at  the  Refuge, 
and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  over  it.  Having  inspected  the  various 
departments,  just  before  leaving,  the  gentleman  said  to  his  wife, 
"  Now  I  will  tell  j'ou  a  great  secret.  I  was  brouglit  up  in  this  place." 
The  lady  seemed  much  surprised,  and  astounded  all  l)y  quietly 
observing,  "And  so  was  I."  So  strange  are  the  coincidences  of 
human  life ! 

Among  the  other  public  institutions  on  Randall's  Island 
are  the  "Nurseries,"  the  "Infant  Ilosiiital,"  and  the  "Idiot 
Asylum,"  admirably  conducted  institutions  all,  reflecting  credit 
upon  New  York,  and  illustrating  practical  Christianit}-.  And 
then  there  is  the  insane  asylum,  located  on  Blackwell's  Island, 


824       A  MUCIl-MAniilKD   WIDOW  AND  OINGER-TEA. 

back  of  tlie  workhouso,  and  occupying  the  extrrnio  upper  por- 
tion of  the  island,  connected  with  the  new  lunatic  awylum  on 
Ward's  Island. 

There  have  been  some  curiojis  creiitures  confined  in  this 
city  lunatic  asylum.  One  of  the  nios:  curious  was  a  woman 
who  always  fancied  hers(!lf  the  wife  of  the  present  President 
of  those  United  States,  and  the  widow  of  all  the  preceding 
Presidents.  She  has  passed  away  now, — gone  to  join  her  many 
illustrious  husbands.  In  nujst  points  this  old  lady  was  as  sane 
as  most  old  ladies ;  but,  on  the  subject  of  the  presidency,  she 
was  as  mad  as  a  March  hare  (though  why  a  bare  should  bo 
regarded  as  particularly  "  mad  "  in  March,  I  never  have  been 
able  for  the  life  of  me  to  discover ;  nor  have  I  ever  met  any- 
body else  who  had).  Another  well-known  inmate  of  the  lunatic 
asylum  in  his  day  took  it  into  his  crazy  head  that  he  was  called 
upon  to  defend  the  island  from  invasion;  and  so  he  passed  his 
not  otherwise  valuable  time  in  erecting  the  most  amazing  forti- 
fications,— defent^es  which  mocked  at  all  the  laws  of  military 
engineering,  and  yet  which  answered  the  purposes  for  wliicli 
they  were  designed  completely, — a  remark  which  applies  to  very 
few  military  fortifications,  except,  perhaps,  Gibraltar. 

A  third  lunatic  imagined  that  he  had  a  plan  to  cure  all  the 
ills  that  humanity  is  heir  to.  But,  in  this  respect,  he  was  only 
like  a  hundred — or  shall  I  not  say  a  hundred  thousand? — other 
self-constituted  "  reformers  "  who  go  around,  making  life  really 
not  worth  the  living  with  their  wild  schemes  of  reformation. 
His  plan  had  at  least  the  merit  of  simplicity  and  cheapness. 
His  panacea  for  every  human  ill  was  ginger-tea.  This,  taken  in 
sufficient  quantities^  —  mark  that  not  at  all  insane  proviso, — 
would  infallibly  heal,  in  due  time,  —  mark,  likewise,  that  not  at 
all  crazy  qualification,  — every  person  ill  in  mind,  body,  or  spirit. 
All  possil)le  misfortunes  yielded  to  ginger-tea.  All  possible 
crimes  would  be  prevented  by  ginger-tea  taken  in  sufficiently 


OFFICIAL  OUTRAOES  ON  TUE  SANE.  825 

large  dosea  in  time.  Delightful  idea!  And,  unlike  many 
reformerii  I  have  met,  the  ginger-tea  philanthropist  and  re- 
former praetiwed  what  he  preached,  and  was  so  fond  of  ginger- 
tea  that  the  rules  of  the  insane  asylum  were  strained  a  little 
in  his  behalf;  and  he  was  supplied  night  and  morning  with 
copious  draughts  of  his  own  panacea. 

And  in  his  own  case,  at  least,  his  prescription  worked  well. 
Outside  of  a  generul  llightiness,  —  liannless  to  everybody  but 
himself,  —  and  his  craze  for  ginger-tea,  he  was  one  of  the  best 
creatures  inuxginablo,  a  moral  and  religious  man,  who  really 
h)Ved  his  fellows,  and  tried  —  though  in  his  own  peculiar  way 
—  to  benefit  them.  I  really  wonder  if,  after  all,  there  is  nut 
something  good  in — ginger-tea? 

In  some  points  the  lunatic  asylums  on  the  islands  are  well 
spoken  of  by  common  report,  and  every  now  and  then  the 
papers  contain  an  account  of  some  entertainment  being  given 
to  amuse  the  lunatics,  and  to  add  to  the  scanty  pleasures  of 
their  lives.  Some  prominent  musical  and  theatrical  artists  have 
on  difTerent  occasions  appearel  and  performed  at  these  enter- 
tainments. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  papers  have  occasionally  (of  late 
(piite  frequently)  published  accounts  of  official  outrages  on 
private  citizens,  perpetrated  within  the  walls  of  the  city  in- 
sane asylum.  It  has  been  alleged,  that  not  only  have  sane 
UHMi  —  men  known  to  be  sane  —  been,  through  the  instrumen- 
tality of  their  relatives  and  the  connivance  of  officials,  confined 
here  under  the  mistake  of  lunacy,  but  that  perfectly  sane  men 
have  been  compelled  to  labor  —  and  labor  more  severely  than 
if  they  had  been  held  to  be  •'  sane  "  —  "  for  nothing  "  (without 
having  committed  any  offenc;e,  and  without  receiving  any  com- 
pensation), for  the  private  pecuniary  benefit  of  the  officials  of 
the  lunatic  asylum.  Cases  of  this  sort  are  not  unfamiliar  to  the 
reading  public ,  and  one  young   lawyer   of  New- York   City, 


826  "  THE  BOSS  "   AND  "  THE  SUEPnERD." 

Mr.  Aaron  Kahn,  has  acquired  some  local  reputation  by  making 
a  specialty  of  ferretting  out  such  cases,  and  legally  protecting 
their  victims. 

As  a  rule,  of  course  the  very  great  proportion  of  men  and 
women  who  are  confined  or  housed  in  any  of  the  public  insti- 
tutions on  the  islands,  are  of  a  low  —  generally  of  the  lowest  — 
social  grade ;  that  is,  if  they  can  be  said  to  have  any  social 
grade  at  all.  But  ever  and  anon,  though  very,  very  rarely, 
some  distinguished  or  educated  man  sinks  so  low  as  to  become 
an  involuntary  inmate  of  institutions  on  the  islands.  William 
M.  Tweed  was  a  case  in  point.  Perhaps  no  fall  in  history 
was  deeper  than  that  of  the  great  Tammany  boss,  and  modern 
lord  of  misrule.  Belisarius,  as  a  beggar,  was  at  least  not 
criminally  disgraced :  the  shame  was  on  the  side  of  an  un- 
grateful people,  not  of  the  neglected  hero.  Joan  of  Arc  at  the 
stake  was  a  heroine  and  a  martyr,  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
pusillanimous  canaille  she  had  for  a  while  commanded,  and 
had  striven  to  render  free.  But  William  M.  Tweed  lived  to 
"do  time"  as  a  "convict"  in  a  striped  suit,  a  duly  tried  and 
legally  sentenced  felon,  in  the  very  institution  of  which  he  had 
been  for  many  years  one  of  the  official  magnates,  and  in  the 
very  midst  of  a  city  which  he  had  once  absolutely  ruled  with 
almost  despotic  power.  Tweed  in  his  cell  presented  one  of  the 
most  dramatic,  striking,  and  instructive  pictures  that  could  pos- 
sibly be  exhibited  to  the  world. 

Another  man,  of  a  very  different  class  and  stamp  from 
Tweed,  yet  socially  his  equal,  and  in  point  of  education  his 
superior,  has  been  enrolled  among  the  prisoners  on  the  island. 
I  allude  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Cowley  of  the  "  Shepherd's  Fold,"  who 
was  imprisoned  here  for  cruelty  to  children.  And  it  is  some- 
what strange  to  remember,  that,  although  William  M.  Tweed  was 
always,  in  his  autocratic  way,  a  liberal-handed,  genial-minded 
man,  he  never  found  as  many  sincere  sympathizers  among  the 


"OLL  SAL  COON."  827 

politicians,  as  did  the  reverend  doctor,  who  was  never  suspected 
of  liberality  or  geniality,  among  the  clergymen.  Perhaps  it  is 
a  rule,  that  the  greater  the  height  from  which  a  man  falls,  the 
more  complete  and  utter  is  his  fall.  The  clergyman  being  but 
an  ordinary  man,  his  fall  was  soon  forgotten ;  but  the  politician 
being  the  head  of  his  tribe,  his  downfall  was  immortal. 

And  among  the  few  socially  notable  people  who  have  ulti- 
mately found  their  way  to  the  island  was  a  woman  who 'at  one 
time  was  a  belle  of  old  New  York,  the  wife  of  a  prosperous 
merchant,  and  a  leader  of  the  ton  at  Saratoga,  —  a  woman  who 
could  converse  fluently  in  French,  German,  Italian,  and  Spanish, 
as  well  as  English ;  a  woman  who  had  at  one  time  numbered 
among  her  admirers  a  mayor  of  New  York ;  a  woman  who  in 
her  younger  days  had  attracted  the  notice  of  Charles  Dickens 
when  he  visited  this  country ;  a  woman  who  had  stirred  a  ten- 
der sentiment  in  the  breast  of  that  great  adventurer,  Louis 
Napoleon,  during  the  short  period  of  his  stay  in  New  York, 
and  yet  a  woman  who  ere  she  died,  a  few  years  ago,  had  served 
seventeen  terms  on  the  island  for  vagrancy  and  drunkenness ; 
a  woman  who  at  the  date  of  her  death  was  simply  the  head 
chambermaid  of  one  of  the  institutions  on  the  island.  I  allude 
to  the  woman  known  to  all  regular  habituSa  of  "  the  Island  " 
as  "  old  Sal  Coon." 

I  dare  say  other  illustrations  could  be  cited,  did  I  but  know 
the  real  inside  history  and  romance  of  "  the  islands  "  and  their 
inhabitants.  But  enough  has  been  stated  to  show  that  it  is 
not  only  the  "  lower  class  "  who  sooner  or  later  drift  into  dis- 
grace and  imprisonment  upon  "  the  islands." 

It  was  on  Ward's  Island  that  I  found,  in  this  my  period 
of  self-inflicted  disgrace  and  self-deserved  despair,  a  temporary 
refuge.  The  Inebriate  Asylum  on  Ward's  Island,  of  which  I 
now  became  an  inmate,  lies  near  the  emigrant  hospital  and 
the  new  lunatic  asylum,  and  is  a  fine,  large  building,  with  ample 


828  MT  NEW  QUABTERS. 

accommodation  for  four  hundred  and  fifty  patients.  Many 
of  the  patients  were,  like  myself,  placed  liere  by  their  friends, 
who  defray  the  expenses  of  their  confinement,  and  ultimate 
restoration  to  health  and  society. 

As  a  whole,  the  institution  is  ably  and  intelligently  con- 
ducted; and  ever^' material  and  moral  appliance  is  employed 
b)!  those  in  charge  to  redeem  the  poor  victims  of  intemperance 
who  are  intrusted  to  their  care.  •  .    . 

In  many  cases  the  treatment  is  successful ;  and  hundreds  of 
men  who  would  otherwise  hava  descended  into  a  drunkard's 
grave  hnve  been  rescued  from  their  awful  fate. 

At  first  I  was  pleased  with  my  new  quarters  in  the  Inebriate 
Asylum.  It  was  a  welcome  change  for  me  to  sleep  upon  a 
comfortable  cot,  instead  of  vainly  striving  to  repose  in  a  ten- 
cent  ludging-house  when  I  had  ten  cents  to  spare,  or  tramping 
the  streets  all  night  when  I  had  not.  It  was  a  welcome 
improvement,  too,  on  my  daily  routine,  to  get  three  fair  meals 
a  day,  instead  of  picking  up,  say,  one  poor  meal  or  so  in  two  or 
three  days. 

But,  alas !  poor  human  nature  will  be  poor  human  nature ; 
and  I  soon  wearied  of  confinement,  and  of  my  monotonous  life 
at  the  asylum.  True,  I  was  not  a  prisoner,  only  a  patient ,  but 
I  was  not  at  all  "patient,"  and  I  was  obliged  to  submit  to  an 
unyielding  discipline :  true,  I  knew  that  this  severe  discipline 
would  all  result  in  my  permanent  good  if  I  would  only  lieartily 
and  in  good  faith  submit  to  ic.  But  there  is  an  old  saw  in 
verse,  with  much  more  truth  to  the  line  than  in  most  verses  of 
a  much  higher  character :  — 

"  No  rogue  e'er  saw  the  halter  draw, 
With  good  opinion  of  the  hvw." 

And  it  requires  a  good  deal  of  philosophy  for  a  man  who  is 
afflicted  with  a  vice,  to  wholly  and  heartily  submit  himself  to 


MY  PLAN  FOR  ESCAPE.  •  829 

the  severe  measures  necessary  to  conquer  the  vicious  habit, 
unless  he  is  compelled  to  submit  by  force.  In  short,  before  I 
l:'id  been  many  days  and  nights  at  the  asylum,  at  whicli  my  true 
friends  had  so  kindly  j  laced  me,  I  began  to  think  uuon  the 
chances  of  escape  from  it.  Although  some  degraded  wretches 
absolutely  learn,  by  time  and  trouble,  to  look  upon  "  the  islands  " 
as  their  "winter  home,"  and  consider  a  commitment  thereto  a 
piece  of  good  luck  ;  yet  the  great  majority  of  the  involuntary 
inmates  of  the  island  institutions  regard  themselves  in  their 
true  light  of  prisoners,  and,  like  prisoners,  often  attempt  to 
escape. 

Men  have  been  killed  ere  now  in  endeavoring  to  reach  "  the 
lights  o'  New  York  "  which  gleamed  temptingly  before  them, 
across  the  East  River.  Only  a  little  distance  from  their  island 
prison,  men  have  been  shot  down  like  dogs  by  the  prison- 
guards,  as  the}'^  were  trying  to  regain  their  freedom ;  men  have 
been  drowned  in  their  efforts  to  escape ;  while  not  a  few  have 
ultimately  escaped,  having  by  pluck  or  by  stratagem  evaded 
or  defied  the  prison-guards,  crossed  the  little  strip  of  water 
which  separated  them  from  life,  and  regained  their  fellow-men 
and  freedom.  The  longer  I  remained  at  the  asylum,  the  more 
I  thought  about  the  best  means  to  leave  it ;  and  finally  I  hit 
upon  a  practical  plan.  I  became  so  desperate  in  my  new  quar- 
ters, from  sheer  monotony  and  ennui,  and  the  restraints  of  a 
necessary  discipline,  that,  although  fairly  fed  and  well  housed 
and  well  treated,  I  would  rather  have  taken  to  a  swim,  and  my 
chances  at  a  shot,  than  be  confined,  though  for  my  own  good, 
longer.  But  it  was  not  necessary  to  resort  to  such  extreme 
measures.  I  effected  my  escape  in  a  very  simple  yet  satisfac- 
tory way,  by  a  simple  little  stratagem. 

Newspaper-men  are  furnished  with  passes  to  the  islands  by 
the  authorities,  to  facilitate  their  professional  duties;  and  on 
this  fact  I  based  my  plan.    I  watched  my  opportunity  and  my 


830  FROM  WARD' 8  ISLAND  TO  NEW  TOBK. 

man,  made  tlie  acquaintance  of  a  journalist  who  seemed  likely 
to  serve  my  turn,  and  obtained  from  him  one  of  those  passes 
without  wliich  no  man  can  enter  or  leave  the  islands,  but 
armed  with  which  he  is  free  to  come  or  go. 

Carefully  arranging  all  the  details  of  my  plans,  so  as  not  to 
attract  suspicion,  and  not  to  disturb  the  official  routine  of  the 
asylum,  I  slipped  out  from  the  asylum-walls,  within  which,  of 
course,  I  was  known,  and  stepped  out  into  the  little  world  out- 
side, where  I  was  unknown.  Presenting  my  pass,  I  stepped 
from  the  island  into  the  boat,  and  soon,  in  the  regular  way, 
reached  New  York  undisturbed. 

How  my  heart  beat  as  I  approached  New  York  I  How  I 
exulted  as  I  set  my  free  foot  once  more  within  the  metrop- 
olis! 

And  yet  I  was  not  free,  nor  was  T  regaining  freedom.  On 
the  contrary,  I  was  really  coming  deliberately  back  into  the 
very  worst  captivity,  —  that  which  renders  a  man  the  slave  of 
his  appetites.  My  true  freedom  and  wisdom  would  have  been, 
to  have  remained  in  the  asylum  till  I  had  been  completely 
cured:  then,  when  I  left  the  place  healed,  and  in  my  right 
mind,  I  would  indeed  have  been  "  a  free  man,"  —  free  from  a 
slavery  the  most  terrible  of  all.  But  I  reasoned  differently 
just  then  ;  or,  rather,  I  did  not  reason  at  all :  I  merely  escaped 
from  confinement,  and  exulted  in  my  escape.  Reaching  the 
New- York  dock,  I  landed  cautiously,  and  then  went  rapidly  on, 
on,  on,  till  beyond  the  reach  of  possible  pursuit. 

And  then  what  do  you  think  I  did  ?  Thank  Heaven  for  the 
success  that  had  crowned  my  efforts  at  escape?  Oh,  no!  I 
never  thought  of  Heaven  in  the  matter  at  all.  Determine  to 
live  more  wisely  in  the  new  life  now  opening  to  me  than  I  had 
lived  in  the  past?  Oh,  no!  I  made  no  resolutions  at  all, — 
certainly,  no  good  or  wise  ones. 

All  I  did  was  simple  enough,  —  about  the   most  "simple" 


J.L     '  <,^     ><^i.     -^/y/ ■y.'Cyy, 


"The  saloon-keeper  of  whom  I  implored  a  drink  eyed  ine  curiously, 
listened  to  my  story,  and  then,  with  a  laugh  and  au  oath,  handed  me  a 
rum-bottle"  [p.  331]. 


.      A  "FREE''  DRUNKARD.  881 

and  sill}',  as  well  as  sad,  thing  I  could  have  done.  I  went  into 
the  first  nun-shop  I  could  find,  and  begged  for  a  drink. 

That  was  all  there  was  about  it,  and  that  was  about  all  the 
good  that  my  experience  in  the  Inebriate  Asvluni  hud  brought 
me.  Poor  victim  of  rum  that  I  was !  All  that  my  "  freedom  " 
meant  to  me  was  liquor.  I  eyed  hungrily,  or  rather  thirstily, 
all  the  saloons  I  passed ;  and  at  last  my  thirst  overcame  me. 
I  knew  I  hiul  no  money,  and  that  it  would  be  some  hours,  per- 
liaps  a  day,  before  I  could  meet  any  of  the  few  acquaintances 
from  whom  I  could  by  any  chance  obtain  a  dollar.  I  felt  hun- 
gry too.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  had  not  tasted 
food  since  early  in  the  morning.  But  I  kept  my  hunger  down 
a  while.  I  could  master  that,  but  not  my  thirst ;  that  mastered 
me.     It  was  for  drink,  and  nrt  for  food,  I  begged. 

The  saloon-keeper  of  whom  I  implored  a  drink  eyed  me 
curiously,  listened  to  my  story,  and  then,  with  a  laugh  and  an 
oath,  handed  me  a  rum-bottle.  I  poured  out  a  glassful,  and 
then  eagerly  drained  the  contents  of  the  glass.  The  fiery 
liquor  gurgled  as  it  went  down  my  throat.  I  rejoiced  in  the 
now  for  some  time  unaccustomed  sensation,  and  I  heartily 
thanked  the  man  who  had  enabled  me  to  partake  once  more  of 
my  old  curse.  Probably  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  I  never 
evinced  a  more  degraded,  besotted,  hopeless  condition,  than  at 
this  particular  period  of  my  career,  having  thus  deliberately 
and  desperately  removed  myself  from  the  restraining  influences 
of  that  asylum  which  would  have  been  my  salvation,  and  hav- 
ing thus  eagerly  surrendered  myself  to  the  fatal  influences  of 
that  appetite  which  had  been  my  destruction. 

And  now  I  was  once  more  roaming  the  streets  of  New  York 
a  '■''free "  " drunkard" 


CHAPTER  XXVI.    •      ' 

DRUNKARDS  AND  DRINKING  IN  NEW  YOHK. — THE  CITY  OF  SALOONS, —TUE 
GLOUY  AND  THE  SHAME  OK  THE  METUOPGUS. — PALATIAL  KUM-PAItLOnS, 
008KY  UAK-llOOMS,   ANU  COUNEB  UliUCEBIES. 

There  are  a  vast  number  of  "  free  "  drunkards  in  New  York. 
DruTikenness  is  alt(jgether  too  free  in  every  sense,  excepting  in 
a  pecuniary  sense.  New  York  is  a  hard-drinking,  as  well  as 
hard-working,  metropolis,  —  a  liquor-cursed  city. 

New  York  might  be  briefly  described  as  a  city  of  drinking- 
saloons,  —  some  of  them  of  the  very  highest  and  most  artistic 
grade,  some  of  them  palaces  of  luxury,  others  vile  and  low 
and  mean  and  dirty  beyond  the  power  of  a  reputable  pen  to 
paint;  some  far  better  than  others,  some  far  worse  than  others; 
but  all  of  them  alike  in  their  one  main  object,  —  the  selling  of 
liquor  with  or  without  a  license.  "  The  New-York  Herald  " 
states, — 

There  are  over  10,000  rum-shops  in  the  city  of  New  York, — one 
to  every  125  inhabitants,  one  to  every  25  families.  There  are  only 
1,100  bakers,  2,000  butchers,  4,000  grocers;  more  rum-sellers  than 
there  are  butchers,  bakers,  and  grocers  together.  Of  these  10,000 
rum-shops,  0,000  are  licensed  ;  and  a  moderate  estimate  gives  the  ilHcit 
shops  and  places  where  rum  —  which  is  the  comprehensive  term  for 
drinks  of  all  kinds  — is  sold  at  1,000.  The  statistics  show  that  tliere 
are  4,319  hotels  of  all  grades  ;  that  there  are  3,722  places  where  ale 
and  beer  only  are  sold ;  that  there  are  534  shops,  drug-stores,  and 
others  where  liquor  can  be  had,  —  which,  with  the  estimated  ilUcit 
1,000,  gives  a  total  of  10,075.     Various  shops  and  stores  where  bread, 


THE  anoa-snops  of  new  york.  888 

moat,  nnd  procprics  ciin  he  procured  foot  up  7,3'i().  In  otiior  words, 
tliore  arc  more  rum-shopa  than  foocl-tliops  in  thia  great  city  of  Now 
York  by  2,74'J. 

The  Aft  under  wliich  the  excise  commissioners  work  pro\  ides  that 
no  license  sluill  be  granted  unless  the  applicant  is  of  good  moral 
character,  and  hus  sufficient  ability  to  keep  un  i.m.  A  glance  at  tho 
statistics  of  crime,  brought  down  to  Octolwr,  18H1,  reveals  rather  an 
extraordiiuiry  comment  upon  the  moral  influence,  at  all  events,  ex- 
erted in,  from,  and  about  the  liipior-shops.  The  total  number  of 
arrests  for  crime  in  one  year  was  C)?,!.'}").  Of  these,  2(),22«  were  for 
intoxication  jter  ae;  and  22,384  wore  for  disorderly  conduct,  the  nor- 
mal outcome  of  drinking,  giving  a  total  of  42,G12  rum-arrests,  or 
sixty-tliree  per  cent  of  the  entire  number. 

The  facts  show  that  that  part  of  the  population  which  least  needjS 
temptation  is  most  multitudinously  supplied  with  it  in  its  worst  and 
lowest  form.  Thus,  that  section  of  the  city  bounded  Ity  Hroome, 
Division,  Norfolk,  and  the  Bowery,  contains  a  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  Inger-beer  saloons  and  seventy-six  rum-shops.  On  one  block, 
between  Kast  Houston  and  Stanton  Streets,  there  are  seventeen 
house-*  (ISIay,  1883),  of  which  eleven  are  gin-mills.  On  the  block 
between  Bayard  and  Division  Streets,  there  arc  fourteen  houses,  iit 
eight  of  which  liquor  is  sold.  On  Cherry  Street,  between  James  and 
Oliver,  there  are  ten  houses,  in  nine  of  which  are  saloons.  On  the 
block  between  Catherine  and  Oliver  there  are  eight  houses,  six  of 
which  are  devoted  to  the  sale  of  whiskey.  On  James  Street,  between 
Batavia  and  North  Chambers,  of  the  eight  houses  four  are  rum-siiops  ; 
and  on  Chatham  Street,  between  Koosevelt  and  James,  there  are 
eight  houses,  in  four  of  which  liquor  is  sold.  These  facts  certainly 
are  extremely  suggestive.  And  this  state  of  things,  which  has  been 
gradually  growing  worse  and  worse  during  the  past  twenty  years,  has 
finally  reached  a  plane  where  sober-minded  people  think  it  is  well  to 
call  a  halt. 

One  of  the  ablest  and  most  influential  of  New- York  clergy- 
men, the  Rev.  Dr.  Crosby,  has  openly  declared  that  "  the  lowest 


834  THE  SHAME  OF  NEW  YORK. 

grog-ahop  Influonoe  rules  tl»e  town."  In  a  lecture  lately  ileliv- 
orod  lit  Steiiiway  Hall  for  tl»e  Association  of  Mastor  l*luni')i'rs, 
on  "  Tlu)  (llury  and  Shamo  of  Now  York,"  the  reverend  doctor 
stated  tiiut  there  was  much  in  New  York  to  make  its  residents 
proud.  No  city  in  the  world  had  made  such  rapid  progress  in 
every  thing  that  pertained  to  beauty  and  utility.  Tlie  Central 
I'ark,  the  Croton  Aqueduct,  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  tl»e  ele- 
vated raihoads,  were  monuments  of  utility  which  did  honor  to 
the  city.  Its  public  schools  were  superior  to  those  in  any  city 
in  the  world.  Its  meu  were  energetic  and  persevering,  and 
possessed  of  strong  common  sense.  It  was  a  harmotnous  com- 
munity, although  made  up  of  people  of  many  races.  That 
intermingling  of  races  had  broadened  the  views  of  all  the 
people,  and  rubbed  out  the  provincialism  which  was  the  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  New  York's  sister  cities. 

But,  uidess  the  good  citizens  awake  to  a  sense  of  their  duty, 
there  was  danger  that  the  glory  of  New  York  might  be  over- 
shadowed by  her  shame.  "  The  chief  sources  of  this  shame," 
the  lecturer  said,  "  are  ruiii  and  the  power  of  the  rumseller. 
The  city  has  been  burdened  with  a  debt  of  more  than  illOO,- 
000,000,  solely  by  the  plunderings  of  politicians.  Tweed  was 
not  the  only  plunderer.  Tliere  were  as  great  scoundrels  in 
■politics  before  Tweed,  and  we  have  had  plenjy  of  them  since 
his  time.  Tliese  rascals  avoid  punishment  by  ingenious  con- 
trivances, and  by  a  knowledge  of  each  other's  misdeeds.  Men 
are  elected  aldermen,  county  clerk,  and  sheriff,  because  they 
have  kept  litpior-saloons.  Bruisers  and  gamblers  are  made 
protectors  of  the  city's  morals.  The  people  often  elect  a  good 
man  for  mayor.  But,  no  matter  how  good  are  his  intentions, 
when  he  goes  into  office  he  is  compelled,  either  to  yield  to  the 
city-hall  rowdyism,  or  to  make  a  futile  effort  against  it.  If 
these  mayors  would  tell  their  experience,  and  speak  truly,  they 
would  all  confess  that  the  lowest  form  of  grog-shop  influence 


STOKES'S  ItAR-ROOM.  886 

rules  tho  government,  —  men  who  enjoy  prize-figlits,  and  fre- 
quent diHreputublo  places;  dirty,  vulgar  men,  whom  respecta- 
ble perHons  would  hIiuu  as  they  do  8nuill-pux.  The  primaries 
were  run  largely  by  the  um-whop  in'"  jnce.  The  diatrict  and 
central  committecB  dare  not  go  back  on  the  primaries;  and  tlie 
citizens  are  called  upon  to  vote  the  regular  ticket,  which  is 
the  result  of  these  primaries. 

"There  are  in  this  city,"  Dr.  Crosby  continued,  "abotit  twelve 
thousand  drinking-suloons,  one  to  every  thirty-three  persons,  if 
the  women  and  children  are  left  out  of  tho  calculation ;  and 
one  to  every  eighteen,  if  the  number  of  men  who  do  not 
frequent  the  saloons  is  taken  as  fifteen  in  eveiy  thirty-three. 
These  saloons  are  chiefly  sustained  by  the  citizens  of  Irish 
and  German  extraction.  Eight  thousand  saloons  are  kept  by 
foreign-born  citizens.  The  cure  is  in  the  foreign-born  citizens' 
hands.  If  they  wish  their  adopted  city  to  retain  its  glory,  they 
should  unite  with  other  good  citizens,  and  check  the  power  of 
rum  and  the  groggeriei-." 

Dr.  Crosby  then  spoke  of  the  social  shame  caused  by  rum, 
and  added  that  men  were  to  blame  l^'v  its  influence,  because 
they  voted  for  partisans  regardless  of  ibeir  fitness ;  newspapers 
were  to  blame,  because  they  did  not  boldly  proclaim  against  it ; 
and  the  city's  law-officers  were  to  blame,  because  they  treated 
the  liquor-seller  too  lightly. 

Some  of  the  barrooms  of  New  York  are  simply  palatial. 
The  Hoffman-house  bar,  owned  by  Edward  S.  Stokes  of  Fisk- 
Mansfield  notoriety,  is  confessedly  the  finest  bar-room  in  the 
world.  At  night  it  presents  to  the  eye  of  the  moralist  a  terri- 
ble spectacle.  All  that  money  and  taste  can  do  to  make  rum- 
drinking  attractive  has  here  been  done.  Pictures  of  nude 
nymphs  are  suspended  from  the  wallo,  or  arranged  with  lights 
as  if  in  an  art-gallery.  Statues  of  naked  women  are  placed  on 
pedestals  at  all  the  entrances  or  exits.    Articles  of  virtu,  brio 


836  "  8IREN-SAL00N8." 

d-brac,  etc.,  lavishly  abound.  Mirrors  meet  the  eye  on  every 
side.  The  carpets  are  luxurious  as  those  of  a  parlor.  The 
tables  are  of  the  most  elegant  material  and  workmanship.  Tlie 
chairs  are  of  the  most  luxurious  pattern.  The  attendants  are 
polite,  active,  well  dressed,  and  well  drilled.  Every  comfort 
and  convenience  known  to  modern  civilization,  from  the  tele- 
phone to  the  spittoon,  is  accessible.  And  all  for  one  object 
only,  —  the  destruction  of  the  human  race  directly  and  indi- 
rectly by  the  sale  of  liquor. 

One  such  saloon  as  this  does  incalculable  harm  from  its  very 
charm.  Just  as  a  beautiful  bad  woman  is  more  dangerous 
than  a  bad  woman  who  is  not  beautiful,  so  a  liquor-saloon 
which  is  elegant  will  entice  more  victims  than  a  liquor-saloon 
which  cannot  boast  of  its  elegance. 

And,  within  the  wide  compass  of  the  metropolis,  there  are 
a  hundred  saloons  of  the  class  of  the  one  just  described,  —  a 
hundred  sirens  which  daily  and  nightly  lure  men  to  per- 
dition. 

There  are  a  score  of  these  siren-saloons  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  tlie  Fifth-avenue  Hotel.  f 

Some  of  the  middle-class  saloons  are  likewise  very  cosey  and 
comfortable  places  of  resort,  regarded  only  from  a  material 
point  of  view.  There  is  a  drinking-saloon  "down  town,"  for 
example,  in  the  Bennett  Building,  wliich  is  a  species  of  museum 
of  curiosities,  cartoons,  and  reminiscences.  Rare  old  play-bills, 
local  relics,  pictures,  caricatures  of  well-known  men  of  the 
past  and  present,  all  sorts  of  oddities,  are  here  to  be  found ; 
and  here  are  also  to  be  found  many  of  the  leading  journalists 
of  the  metropolis,  and  its  sporting-men,  rendering  the  place  a 
species  of  "  exchange." 

And  yet  it  is  only  "  a  rum-shop  "  after  all,  —  a  place  where 
drinking,  and  drinking  only,  goes  on  "  from  morn  till  noon, 
from  noon  to  dewy  eve,"  —  a  rum-shop  which  is  indirectly  re- 


"NO  DIFFERENCE  AT  ALL."  837 

sponsible  for  the  "  decline  and  fall "  of  many  of  its  patrons, 
and  for  the  suicides  of  several  of  its  best  customers. 

And  just  as  the  Hoffman-house  bar  is  a  sample  of  one  class 
of  saloons ;  so  is  this  latter  a  specimei:  of  another  class,  even 
more  numerous,  and,  in  proportion  to  its  expenses,  even  more 
profitably  dangerous.  And  as  "  one  star  differs  from  another 
star  in  glory ; "  so  one  rum-shop  differs  from  another  in  grade 
till  we  come  down  to  the  very  lowest  social  and  "  spirit  "-\ial 
strata,  to  the  "  corner  grocery,"  or  the  "  boozing  ken." 

But  it  must  ever  be  carefully  borne  in  mind,  that,  though  the 
details  and  the  surroundings  of  the  "business"  vary  vastly, 
the  "business"  itself,  in  all  the  grades  of  saloons,  is  precisely 
the  same.  Vice  is  always  nothing  but  vice,  and  liquor  is  always 
nothing  but  liquor. 

The  drinking  palace  or  parlor  is  only  the  ordinary  bar-room^ 
with  a  little  veneer  on  it ;  and  the  ordinary  bar-room  is  but  the- 
"corner  grocery,"  miA  a  little  more  ^^  style ;"  and  the  "corner 
grocery"  soon  sinks  into  the  policy-den  or  the  thieves'  resort. 
But  in  the  eyes  of  the  moralist,  the  temperance  man,  and 
Heaven,  there  is  no  difference  at  all  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  HAUNTS  OF  THE  RUM-DEMON. —  THE  CONCERT-SAI,OONS  OF  NEW  YORK. 
—  THE  DANCE-HOUSES. — HOW  A  NEW- YORK  JOURNALIST  SAVED  A  GER- 
MAN GIRL.  —  THE  EFFORTS  WHICH  HAVE  BEEN  MADE  BY  TEMPERANCE 
AND  RELIGION  TO  COMBAT  INTEMPERANCE  AND  VICE. —THE  WICKEDEST 
MAN  IN  NEW  YORK  AND  KIT  BURNS.  —  "AWFUL "  GARDNER  AND  JEBBY 
MOAULEY. 

New  York  has  calways  been  a  rum-cursed  city,  and  its  low- 
est dens  and  dives  have  been  rendered  even  more  hideous  by 
the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  rum  retailed  there. 

The  concert-saloons  of  New  York  are  among  the  favorite 
haunts  of  the  liquor-demon,  —  that  familiar  fiend  of  the  vast 
American  metropolis. 

We  find  the  following  faithful  description  of  one  of  these 
saloons  in  one  of  the  popular  prints  of  the  day:  — 

On  Broadway,  near Street,  we  notice,  just  above  the  entrance 

to  a  cellar,  a  flaming  transparency,  with  the  inscription,  "Madame 

X., Arcade."     Going  down  a  few  steps,  we  find  our  view  of 

the  interior  obstructed  by  a  large  screen  painted  white,  with  the  almost 

nude  figure  of  a  dancing  Venus  coarsely  painted  thereon.    The  screen 

is  placed  across  the  entrance,  a  few  feet  from  the  door,  obliging  us  to 

flank  it,  (\  la  Sherman,  and  enter  the  hall  by  going  around  it.     We 

find  the  floor  handsomely  covered  with  matting  and  oil-cloth.     Ou 

the  right-hand  side,  nearest  the  door,  is  the  bar,  over  which  presides 

a  genius  of  the  male  sex,  whose  chief  attractions  consist  of  a  decided 

red  head,  and  an  irarnonse  paste  breast-pin  stuck  into  the  bosom  of  a 

ruffled  shirt.     The  bar  is  well  furnished ;  and  any  drink  called  for, 
338 


**THE  PRETTY  WAITER-GIRLS."  839 

from  beer  to  champagne,  can  be  instantly  olitainod.  A  eiprniflcnnt 
feature  io  a  formklable  Colt's  revolver,  a  foot  in  length,  suspeiuled 
immediately  over  the  sideboard.  This  weapon,  it  may  be  observed, 
is  not  placed  there  as  an  ornament:  it  is  in  itself  a  monitor.,  wfirnini» 
those  inclined  to  be  disorderly  of  the  danger  of  ca. .  ying  their  boi^tcr- 
ousnoss  or  rrfflanism  too  far.  On  the  walls  are  black  engravings  of 
the  French  school,  fit  ornaments  of  the  place.  But,  while  we  are 
taking  this  casual  survey,  one  of  the  attendant  nymphs  with  great 
scantiness  of  clothing,  affording  display  for  bf.re  shoulders  and  not 
unhandsome  anklet  appears,  and,  with  a  voice  of  affected  sweetness 
wholly  at  variance  with  her  brazen  countenance  and  impertinent  air, 
requests  us  to  be  seated,  and  asks  what  we  will  have.  We  modestly 
ask  for  "two  ales,"  which  are  soon  placed  before  us,  and  paid  for. 
While  quietly  sipping  the  beverage,  we  will  glance  at  our  surround- 
ings. Back  of  the  hall  (we  are  sitting  at  a  table  near  tiie  centre  of 
the  apartment),  on  a  raised  platform,  is  an  asthmatic  piano-forte, 
upon  which  an  individual  with  threadbare  coat,  colorless  vest,  and 
faded  nankeen  pantaloons,  is  thrumming  away  for  dear  life.  Out  of 
tune  himself,  he  tortures  the  poor  instruinent  in  a  way  that  threatens 
its  instant  dissolution,  rending  its  heart-stnngs,  and  causing  it  to 
shriek  with  agony,  wailing  out  the  tune  that  the  old  cow  died  of. 
This  is  the  only  music  the  performer  is  acquainted  with,  judging 
from  the  persistent  manner  in  which  he  clings  to  it.  Wliat  he  lacks 
in  musical  knowledge,  however,  he  makes  up  with  intention,  and 
thumps  away  quite  manfully,  only  stopping,  now  and  then,  to  call 
for  a  drink  with  which  to  recruit  his  exhausted  energies.  But  we 
have  come  to  behold  the  chief  attraction  of  the  establishment,  —  "  the 
pretty  waiter-girls." 

Looking  around,  we  see,  perhaps,  twenty  females  in  various 
styles  of  dress,  —  some  in  Turkish  costume  (supposed  to  be  houris, 
no  doubt),  others  attired  as  Spanish  peasants,  and  othera  in  plain 
evening  attire.  The  latter  are,  for  the  most  part,  far  from  pos- 
sessing charms,  and,  from  their  looks,  have  long  since  outlived  their 
beauty ;  but  what  they  lack  in  this  respect  they  make  up  in  others. 
The  girl  that  waited   upon  us  on  our  entrance  again  approaches, 


340  SCENE  IN  PANDEMONIUM. 

and,  seeing  our  glusses  empty,  tiikes  them  iiwaj'  to  be  replenished. 
She  soon  re-appeura,  and,  in  response  to  our  invitation,  takes  a  seat 
beside  us  while  we  enter  into  conversation  with  her.  She  is  a  f.iii 
Sample  (excuse  the  mercantile  term)  of  her  class,  and  her  history  is 
ft  history  of  a  majority  of  her  associates. 

Not  unprepossessing  in  appearance,  by  any  means,  Ellen 

(that  she  tells  us  is  her  name)  is  twenty-two  years  of  age ;  was 
born  in  the  village  of  Tarrytown  ;  resided  with  her  parents  until  she 
was  t'igiiteen,  when  her  father  died.  Leaving  her  mother,  with  her 
youngest  brother  she  came  to  New  York  to  seek  employment.  On 
arriving  in  the  city,  she  obtained  a  situation  in  a  millinery  store ; 
remained  there  but  a  short  time ;  was  out  of  work,  had  no  friends, 
no  money  ;  would  not  go  back  to  her  mother,  who  was  poor ;  saw  an 

advertisement  of  Madame for  "  Pretty  Waiter-Girls  ; "  answered 

it ;  was  engaged  in  the  saloon ;  seduced  (partly  by  promises  and 
partly  by  threats)  by  one  of  the  frequenters  of  the  establishment; 
and  has  since  led  the  life  of  a  prostitute.  Ellen  told  her  story  with- 
out the  least  emotion,  and,  when  asked  about  her  mother,  carelessly 
replied,  siie  supposed  the  old  woman  was  dead  by  this  time. 

Sucli  are  the  effects  of  vice,  and  a  life  of  infamy,  upon  the  noble 
feelings  and  natural  impulses  of  the  female  heart.  With  an  excla- 
mation of  "Oh,  there's  my  man!"  our  attendant  suddenly  left  us, 
and  joined  an  individual  who  had  just  entered  the  apartment ;  and  we 
did  not  see  her  again. 

At  a  table  nearly  opposite  to  our  own  sat  a  couple,  one  of  whom 
at  least,  to  even  a  casual  observer,  is  a  stranger  to  the  place  and  its 
surroundings  :  there  is  no  doubt  of  it.  Wholly  enrapt  in  the  beauty 
and  grace  of  his  female  companion,  he  is  totally  oblivious  to  all  pass- 
ing around.  She  is  exerting  all  her  arts  to  entice  '■^greeney"  into 
her  net,  and  before  long  will  be  counting  the  amount  of  his  cash ; 
while  he,  her  dupe,  will  be,  too  late,  reflecting  upon  the  depravity  of 
"  pretty  waiter-girls."  By  this  time  the  saloon  is  crowded  with  men 
and  women  of  all  ages,  and  degrees  of  social  standing.  Here  is  the 
man-about-town,  the  hanger-round  of  the  hotels,  in  clothes  of  unex- 
ceptionable cut  and  make,  talking  earnestly  with  a  female,  whose 


WHAT  "A   CONCERT-SALOON "   REALLY  IS.  341 

drawn  veil  conceals  her  face,  —  perhaps  some  unfortunate  victim  of 
his  lust,  or  probably  his  mistress  come  to  plead  for  justice,  or  for  her 
week's  allowance  of  money.  Yonder  is  a  youth  of,  as  Sylvunus 
Cobb,  jun.,  would  say,  some  eighteen  summers,  young  in  years,  but 
old  in  sin,  who  supports  on  his  iinee  a  '■'■  ni/riipk-clu-pave,"  with  whom 
he  has  entered  from  the  street,  and  upon  whom  he  is  spending  his 
last  quarter's  salary,  or  the  proceeds  of  an  investigation  into  the 
till  of  his  employer.  In  that  corner  is  tiic  returned  soldier,  who  iuis 
just  been  paid  oflf,  and  who  is  now  expending  the  hard-earned  pittance 
of  the  government  upon  some  bepainted  and  bedizened  courtesan, 
while  his  wife  and  family  are  suffering  for  want  of  the  common 
necessaries  of  life.  A  cry  of  pain,  followed  by  a  burst  of  brutal 
laughter,  causes  us  to  turn  our  eyes  to  a  corner,  just  in  time  to  wit- 
ness a  woman  fall  to  the  ground,  by  a  l)low  from  the  clinched  fist  of 
the  brute  with  whom  she  had  been  quarrelling.  A  moment  there  is 
silence  in  the  hall,  but  only  for  a  moment.  The  girl  is  picked  up  by 
one  of  her  companions,  a  few  rough  jokes  at  her  expense,  and  all 
goes  on  as  before.  Observe  that  couple  descending  the  steps,  —  a 
handsome,  almost  noble-looking  man,  but  upon  whose  countenance 
is  stamped  the  mark  of  a  dissolute  life  —  upon  his  arm  a  female  hid- 
den from  view  by  a  black  "eil.  They  advance  to  the  bar.  The  gen- 
tleman whispers  a  word  in  the  ear  of  one  of  the  girls.  A  meaning 
smile  flickers  over  her  face  as  she  hands  him  a  key.  with  which  he 
opens  a  door  in  the  end  of  the  room,  and  disappears  with  the  female. 
Reader,  you  have  seen  half  a  dozen  similar  couples  arrive  and  vanish 
through  the  same  door.  Do  you  know  f  be  why  and  wherefore  of  this 
proceeding?  This  saloon  is  one  of  the  most  '■'•notorious  assignation 
houses"  in  New  York.  We  might  go  on,  and  notice  more  fully  the 
various  scenes  constantly  varying  in  this  house  ;  but  we  have  not  at 
present  time  or  space  ;  and,  besides,  the  task  is  not  an  agreeable  one. 

The  dance-houses  of  New  York  form  still  another  temple  of 
the  metropolitan  liquor-demon,  —  the  real  Devil  of  New  York. 
These  "  dance-houses  "  differ  from  the  "  concert-saloons,"  just 
described,  in  two  points  only,  —  they  are  a  degree  lower  and 


842  A   SAILORS'   "  DANCE-IIOUSE." 

viler ;  and  their  guesta,  or  victims  (the  terms  are  identical  and 
interchangeable),  assemble  for  the  purposes  of  dancing  as  well 
as  drinking. 

These  dance-houses  are  generally  located  in  the  very  worst 
quarters  cf  the  city,  in  the  streets  near  the  East  and  North 
Rivers,  in  order  to  be  easy  of  access  to  sailors.  Tlie  buildings 
are  generally  out  of  repair,  and  liave  a  rickety  appearance. 
The  main  entrance  leads  to  a  long,  narrow  hall,  the  floor  of 
which  is  well  sanded  :  the  walls  are  ornamented  with  flashy 
prints,  and  the  ceiling  with  colored  tissue  papers  cut  in  "fancy" 
shapes.  There  is  always  a  bai',  which  is  well  stocked  with  all 
sorts  of  vile  spirits.  The  place  is  desolate  and  horrible  in 
itself;  but  the  women  connected  with  it,  the  poor  "girls"  of 
the  dance-house,  are  beyond  description  pitiable.  God  help 
them !  They  constitute  the  most  hideous  incarnation  of  vice 
and  rum. 

They  are  miserably  clad  ;  they  are  always  more  or  less  wild 
with  liquor ;  they  are  despised  by  all  decent  men  and  women, 
and  know  it ;  they  are  cursed  at,  kicked,  and  cuffed  by  the 
brutal  owner  of  the  place ;  they  are  often  terribly  beaten  in 
the  drunken  quarrels  which  arise  in  these  abodes  of  iniquity ; 
they  are  the  playthings  of  the  most  besotted  of  mankind ;  they 
despise  themselves.  God  help  them  indeed,  for  rum  and  the 
Devil  have  brought  them  to  perdition,  even  in  this  world ! 

And  they  can  not,  they  dare  not,  even  try  to  escape  j  for 
they  are  the  slaves,  yes,  the  slaves  of  their  master,  —  the  vile 
keeper  of  this  dance-house  hell.  They  liave  no  money  of  their 
own,  not  a  dollar.  Their  master  claims  a  part  of  their  infa- 
mous earnings  as  his  "  trade  percentage,"  his  business  "  com- 
mission," and  then  demands  the  rest  for  their  board  and 
clothes. 

Even  in  the  few  cases  where  the  poor  "  girl "  (generally  a 
prematurely  aged  "girl")  has  the  nerve  to  fly  from  opj  of 


**  CHRISTIAN "   LAW  ON  SATAN' 3  S/Di'.  848 

these  (lance-houses,  she  is  brought  back,  either  by  force  or  by 
the  Inw  (?),  or  both.  Yes,  in  this  Christian  (?)  city  the  law  in 
these  cases  is  on  the  side  of  Satan  and  the  dance-house  keeper. 
The  latter,  inspired  by  the  former,  claims  the  clothes  on  the 
backs  of  the  runaways  as  his  property,  and  charges  them  with 
theft. 

That  able  and  high-toned  writer  on  low  city-life,  Oliver  Dyer, 
in  that  once  popular  and  always  able  magazine,  "Packard's 
Monthly,"  thus  alludes  to  this  fearful  blot  on  humanity  and 
justice :  — 

There  is,  probably,  not  a  police  reporter  in  the  city  of  much  expe- 
rience who  has  not  seen  one  of  these  girls  arraigned  at  the  Tombs, 
or  at  some  other  police-court,  on  a  charge  of  theft ;  because,  in  flee- 
ing from  the  intolerable  servitude  of  some  den  of  vice,  she  had  to 
wear  clothes  belonging  to  the  keeper,  not  having  any  of  her  own 
wherewith  to  hide  her  nakedness.  We  will  give  a  scene  of  this 
kind :  Place,  the  Tombs  ;  time,  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  present, 
police-justice,  officers  of  the  court,  about  thirty  prisoners,  policemen 
attending  as  witnesses,  an.l  parties  preferring  charges  against  prison- 
ers. The  name  of  the  girl  aganist  whom  complaint  has  been  made 
having  been  called,  the  following  examination  took  place:  — 

Justice.     What  is  the  charge  against  this  girl? 

Policeman.     Felony.     Stealing  wearing-apparel.  '    . 

Justice.     Who  is  the  complainant? 

Policeman.  This  woman  here  (pointing  out  the  keeper  of  the 
den  from  which  the  girl  fled,  —  a  most  villanous  old  hag) . 

Justice  (to  the  keeper).     What  did  the  girl  steal? 

Policeman.     Every  rag  she  has  on,  bad  luck  to  her ! 

Justice.     Mary  (to  the  girl),  who  owns  the  shawl  you  have  on? 

Mart.     She  does,  sir  (pointing  to  the  woman). 

Justice.     Who  owns  that  hat  and  dress  you  have  on? 

Marv.     She  does. ^^  — - 

Justice.     Haven't  you  any  thing  of  your  own  to  wear? 

Makv.     Nothing,  sir. 


844  "IT  IS  A  HARD  CASE,  MARY." 

Justice.     This  woiuau  owus  them  uU,  -  •  all  the  clothes  you  havo  OQ  ? 

Mahy.     Yo8,  sir. 

JusTiCK.     If  they  arc  hei-a,  you  should  not  have  taken  thom. 

Makv.  Please,  sir,  I  couldn't  stay  in  her  licu'iO  any  longer ;  and  I 
couldn't  go  naked  into  the  street. 

JusTiCK.  It  is  a  hard  case,  Mary ;  hut  stealing  is  stealing,  and  I 
shall  have  to  send  j'ou  up  for  twenty  days.  And  so  ]Mury  is  sent  to 
the  Penitentiary  on  lUaekwell's  Island  for  twenty  days  (and  sometimes 
for  a  longer  period) ,  wearing  the  "  stolen  "  clothes  ;  and  the  wretch  of 
n  keeper  goes  back  to  her  den,  and  tells  the  other  girls  of  Mary's  fate, 
satisfied  to  give  the  shabby  garment,  in  which  the  victim  was  attired, 
in  exchange  for  the  "  moral  effect "  of  tlie  girl's  conviction  and  impris- 
onment on  those  who  are  still  in  her  clutches.  Justice  Dowling,  we 
believe,  never  convicts  a  girl  of  theft  under  such  circumstances,  but 
gives  her  accuser  such  a  scoring  down  in  open  court  as  sends  her 
back  to  her  den  in  rage  and  shame. 

Justice  Dowling  is  dead ;  but  I  would  that  he  had  left  more 
of  his  like,  in  this  respect  at  least,  behind  him.     '  > 

Those  of  my  readers  desirou.s  of  perusing  more  elaborate 
pen-pictures  of  the  dens  and  dives  of  the  gr*»at  n'letropolis 
than  I  have  power  or  space  to  give,  and  learning  their  horrors, 
are  respectfully  referred  to  such  works  as  "  The  Secrets  of  the 
Great  City,''  by  Edward  Winsiow  Martin,  —  a  book  replete 
with  curious  and  instructive  ijiformation  on  all  phases  of  met- 
ropolitan life.  It  is  not  unfrequently  the  case,  though  not  so 
frequently  now  as  in  the  past,  that  respectable  girls,  especially 
emigrants,  are  decoyed  into  these  dens  and  dance-houses.  Once 
within  these  hells,  the  poor  girls  seldom  come  out  pure ;  once 
ingulfed,  they  are  lost :  but  there  is  one  case,  at  least,  in  which 
one  of  these  poor,  decoyed  girls  escaped,  and  escaped  through 
the  kindness  of  heart  and  the  Christian  courage  of  a  well-known 
New-Yorker,  now  connected  in  an  important  capacity  with 
«  The  New- York  Sun." 


"A  liASEMENT"    IN   WILLIAM  STREET,   N.Y.  845 

In  tlio  montli  of  February,  18r)2,  Isaac  W.  Eiigliind,  Esq.,  for- 
merly the  city  editor  of  "The  New- York  Tribune,"  subsecjuently 
the  niaiuigiug  editor  of  "The  Chicago  Kepublican,"  and  now 
the  business  manager  of  "The  New-York  Sun,"  was  returning 
to  this  cit)!  from  Liverpool,  in  the  emigrant  i)acket-shii)  "  N"\v 
York,"  in  which  he  had  taken  a  second-cabin  passage,  fvtr  the 
purpose  of  learning  practically  how  emigrants  fared  in  such 
vessels.  Mr.  England  did  this  with  a  view  to  exposing  the 
atrocities  then  practised  upon  emigrants,  and  which  he  after- 
wards did  expose,  in  the  columns  of  "The  Tribune,"  and  with 
such  effect  as  to  be  largely  instrumental  in  the  funilamental 
regeneration  of  the  whole  emigrant  business,  and  the  creation  of 
ihe  Castle-Garden  commission.  Among  the  passengers  in  the 
second  cabin  of  the  packet-ship  was  a  handsome  English  girl, 
some  nineteen  years  of  age,  from  near  Mr.  England's  native 
town.  The  fact  that  the  girl  came  from  near  his  native  town 
led  Mr.  England  to  feel  an  interest  in  her ;  and  he  learned  that 
she  was  coming  to  America  to  join  her  brother,  then  living  near 
Pottsville  in  Pennsylvania.  On  landing  in  New  York,  the  girl 
went  to  a  boarding-house  in  Greenwich  Street,  there  to  await 
his  arrival;  it  having  been  arranged  that  he  should  come  to 
New  York  for  her.  Mary  (for  that  was  her  name)  had  not 
been  at  the  boarding-house  many  days,  when  a  German  woman 
called  there  in  search  of  a  bar-maid ;  and,  seeing  Mary,  she  at 
once  sought  to  induce  her  to  accept  the  situation.  It  is  not  un- 
common for  English  girls,  of  the  class  to  which  Mary  belonged, 
to  act  as  bar-maids  in  England ;  that  being  there  considered  a 
respectable  employment.  Deceived  by  the  complaisant  man- 
ners, and  lured  by  the  liberal  promises,  of  the  German  woman, 
the  girl  accepted  her  offer,  and  went  with  her  to  her  saloon,  a 
basement  in  William  Street,  near  Pearl.  After  one-day's  ser- 
vice as  bar-maid,  Mary  was  bluntly  told  by  her  employer  that 
she  had  been  brought  thither  to  serve  iii  a  capacity  which  we 


840  THE  rsniLs  of  the  roon. 

will  not  nnmo,  and  was  at  onco  orileied  to  make  ready  for  enter- 
ing upun  a  lifu  uf  hlianie.  The  liurror-Htricken  girl,  frantic  with 
terror,  set  about  immediately  leaving  the  premises.  But  she 
was  too  valuable  a  prize  to  be  allowed  to  escape.  The  hag  into 
whose  clutches  she  had  fallen  locked  her  up  in  a  back-basement 
room,  extending  under  a  grate  in  the  yard,  and  o[)en  to  the  iu- 
clemency  of  the  weather,  and  there  kept  her  for  two  days  and 
two  nights ,  the  girl  not  daring  to  eat  or  drink  all  that  time,  for 
fear  of  being  drugged  into  insensibility  and  ruin.  The  only 
sustenance  the  poor  girl  had,  in  eight  and  forty  hours,  was  the 
snow  that  she  scraped  from  the  area-grating ;  nor  did  she  dare 
to  close  her  eyes  in  sleep  for  an  instant:  and,  while  thus  impris- 
oned, constant  efforts  were  made  to  intimidate  her,  and  force 
her  to  submit.  With  some  poor  women,  threats  would  have 
been  suflicient  to  accomplish  the  fatal  purpce  ;  but  Mary  was 
prepared  to  fight  for  her  honor,  which  was  dearer  than  life.  But 
lack  of  food  and  sleep  began  to  tell  upon  her.  Her  strength 
failed,  her  mind  weakened,  and  it  seemed  as  though  her  doom 
was  sealed.  On  the  third  day  of  Mary's  imprisonment,  Mr. 
England,  who  was  about  to  start  for  Rhode  Island,  bethouglit 
himself  of  his  young  country-woman,  and  determined  to  call  tt 
the  boarding-house  in  Greenwich  Street.  He  did  so,  and  was 
told  she  had  engaged  as  bar-maid  in  the  William-street  saloon. 
Having  knowledge  of  such  places,  Mr.  England  was  troubled, 
and,  though  pressed  for  time,  determined  to  call  at  the  saloon. 
He  went  there,  and  his  first  glance  discovered  its  character.  On 
inquiring  of  the  landlady  for  Mary,  he  was  told  she  had  gone 
to  Pennsylvania  with  Ler  brother  two  days  ago.  Something  in 
the  woman's  manner  excited  Mr.  England's  suspicions  ;  and  he 
told  her  that  he  thought  she  was  deceiving  him,  and  that  Mary 
was  still  in  the  house.  At  this  the  woman  flew  into  a  passion, 
and  swore  volumes  in  several  different  languages  at  Mr.  Eng- 
land.    While  he  was  thus  contesting  with  the  landlady,  one  of 


..<^>'^?^';^^/ 


"Aa  soon  aa  tlio  door  was  opened,  Mary  camo  rn»hinK  out,  and,  seolnp;  Mr. 
Enf^lund,  flevr  to  liim,  sobbinp;  hysterically',  and  clinginf;  to  liis  arm,  and  cried, 
'Take  me  from  this  place!  Take  mo  from  tills  placet '  "  [p.  347]. 


A   PRpViDKNTIAL  ESCAPE.  847 

tho  girls  ill  waiting  passod  near  him,  nnd  miittei'oil  HOiuething 
wliicii  ho  iiiuIcrHtood  to  be  n  Htutunient  that  Mury  wu8  in  the 
houue.  Upon  this  Mr.  Knghmd  took  decided  ground,  and  told 
tho  woman,  that,  unlesH  uho  immediately  produced  tlio  girl,  he 
would  go  for  nn  officer,  and  have  her  arrested.  Thin  brought 
her  to  terma.  SIio  gave  one  of  tho  girls  a  key,  and  an  order  in 
German,  in  pnrHuanee  of  wliich  the  girl  went  to  the  room  where 
Mary  was  confined.  Ah  hooii  as  tho  door  waa  opened,  Mary 
cnme  rushing  out,  and,  seeing  Mr.  England,  flew  to  him,  sob* 
hing  liysterically,  and  clinging  to  his  arni,  and  cried,  "Take  me 
from  this  plucie,  take  mo  from  this  place  I  "  After  (li'iiianding 
Mary's  trunk,  which  was  delivered  to  him  with  all  her  things, 
Mr.  England  immediately  took  the  rescued  girl  to  a  place  of 
safety.  Mary's  brother  had  died  while  she  was  on  her  voyage 
to  meet  him.  But  a  young  New-Yorker,  a  lawyer,  saw  her, 
loved  her,  wooed  her,  and  married  her;  and  they  now  live 
happy  and  prosperous.  But  suppose  that  there  had  been  no 
Mr.  England  in  tho  case.  Why,  then  she  would  have  met  her 
doom  in  the  wretched  William-street  den,  and  been  one  of 
that  class  about  whom  this  article  is  written. 

But  what  have  the  good  people  of  New  York  been  about  all 
these  years  ^wue  naturally  asks)  with  all  these  iniquities  all 
about  them  ?  What  have  the  Christians  and  the  temperance 
people  been  doing  to  check  these  devilish  evils,  to  stop  this 
work  of  rum,  in  these  its  most  degraded  asi)ects? 

They  have  not  been  idle ,  though  they  have  not  always,  I 
fear,  been  wise :  and  time  after  time  earnest  efforts  have  been 
made  to  stem  the  downward  current  of  depravity. 

Sometimes  public  attention  has  been  largely  drawn  to  these 
efforts  at  reformation  and  salvation ;  and  much  good,  even  if, 
in  many  cases,  only  a  temporar}'  good,  has  been  accomplished. 

Years  ago  there  lived  and  sinned  in  New  York  a  dance-house 
keeper,  upon  whom  Oliver  Dyer,  already  mentioned,  bestowed, 


848  THE    WICKEDEST  MAN  IN  NEW   YORK. 

in  an  article  in  "  Packard's  Monthly,"  the  title,  richly  deserved, 
of  "  The  Wickedest  Man  in  New  York." 

He  and  his,  and  his  surroundings,  and  the  attempt  made  to 
reform  him,  were  thus  described  graphically  in  the  magazine :  — 

The  wickedest  man  in  New  York  goes  by  tiie  name  of  Jolni  Allen. 
He  lives  at  No.  304  Water  Street.  He  keeps  a  dauce-house  tiiere. 
He  is  about  forty-five  years  old.  He  is  reputed  to  be  worth  a  liun- 
dred  thousand  dollars,  more  or  less ;  and  be  is  knotvn  to  be  worth 
seventy  thousand  dollars.  He  has  three  brothera  wlio  are  clergymen, 
two  of  them  being  Presbyterians,  and  one  a  Baptist,  and  is  reported 
to  have  ouce  been  a  minister  of  the  gospel  himself  ;  was  a  good  man 
originally,  and  is  yet  a  "good  fellow"  in  many  respects.  "Were  it 
not  for  his  good  qualities,  he  never  could  have  attained  unto  the 
eminence  of  being  the  wickedest  man  in  New  York. 

The  best  bad  are  always  the  worst. 

Take  him  for  all  in  all,  our  wickedest  man  is  a  phenomenon.  He 
reads  the  Bible  to  his  dance-house  girls,  and  his  favorite  papci-s  are 
"The  New  York  Observer"  and  "  Tlie  Independent."  lie  takes 
them  regularly,  and  reads  them.  We  ha^■e  repeatedly  seen  tliem 
lying  on  the  counters  of  his  bar-room,  along  witli  "The  Herald" 
and  "Sun."  We  have  also  seen  a  dozen  copies  of  "The  Little 
Wanderer's  Friend"  scattered  about  his  place;  for  he  takes  an 
interest  in  mission-work,  and  "goes  in"  generally  for  progress  for 
other  people.  This  wickedest  man  is  the  only  entity  appertaining 
to  the  shady  side  of  New- York  life  wliieh  we  have  not  been  able 
to  fathom  or  account  for.  Why  a  human  being  of  his  education 
should  continue  to  live  in  a  Water-street  dance-house,  and  bring  up 
his  children  there,  is  more  than  we  can  comprehend. 

For  the  wickedest  man  loves  his  cluldren.  His  little  five-year-old 
boy  is  the  apple  of  his  eye.  lie  never  misses  an  opportunity  to  sound 
the  child's  praises,  and  to  show  off  his  accomplishments.  All  things 
considered,  the  little  fellow  is  truly  a  wonder.  He  is  crammed  full 
of  information  on  all  manner  of  topics,  and  is  ever  ready  to  re- 
spond to  his  doting  father's  attempts  to  make  his  smartness  visible  to 


A    W'ATER-STJiEET  DEN.  349 

the  naked  eye.  We  Imve  never  visited  tlie  wickedest  mun's  dance- 
house  vvitliout  having  our  attention  called  to  his  little  son's  abilities, 
except  once,  when  he  took  us  around  to  the  school  the  child  attends, 
to  let  us  see  that  he  ranks  with  the  best,  and  io  a  favorite  with  his 
teacher.  That  was  on  the  twenty-eighth  day  of  May,  at  a  quarter 
to  twelve  in  the  daytime,  when  we  .vent  to  304  Water  Street  to  tell 
Mr.  Allen  that  the  fated  time  had  come  for  serving  him  up  in  a 
magazine  article. 

We  think  we  know  why  this  wickedest  man  i^raists  in  living  in  his 
Water-street  den, — we  have,  in  fact,  penetrated  his  secret;  but,  as 
we  are  not  absolutely  certain  as  to  the  matter,  we  will  not  set  our 
suspicions  down  in  print,  lest  we  should  do  him  injustice.  We  have 
said  our  wiclvcdest  man  is  a  phenomenon  :  we  meant  this  in  its  appli- 
cation to  the  deepest  springs  of  his  character,  but  it  is  also  applica- 
ble to  the  external  manifestations  of  those  deepest  springs. 

Has  the  reader  any  notion  of  a  Water-street  dance-house?  Con- 
cretely stated,  it  is  a  breatliing-hole  of  hell,  —  a  trap-door  of  the 
bottomless  pit.  You  step  into  a  bar-room  wherein  lousy  loafers  lurk 
on  a  level  with  the  sidewalk,  and  in  rooms  far  below  it.  But  usually 
there  is  a  "  saloon"  in  the  rear  of  the  bur-room.  Passing  out  of  the 
bar-room  by  a  door  opening  in  a  partition  across  the  rear,  you  enter 
the  daneing-saloon,  which  varies  in  size  from  a  room  fifteen  feet 
square  to  a  room  twenty-five  to  fifty  feet  in  extent.  Along  the  wall 
of  this  room  extends  a  bench,  usually  on  three  sides.  In  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  is  an  orchestra,  proportioned  in  numbers  and  skill 
to  the  prosperity  of  the  establishment.  In  one  of  the  rear  cornera 
of  the  saloon,  there  is  a  small  bar,  whei-e  the  girls  can  drink  with  their 
victims  without  exposing  their  fascinations  to  the  unthriftful  gaze 
of  a  non-paying  public.  Sitting  upon  the  benches,  or  grouped  upon 
tlie  floor,  are  girls  varying  in  number  from  four  to  twenty,  but  aver- 
aging about  ton.  These  girls  are  not  comely  to  the  fastidious  eye,  but 
to  a  sailor  from  a  long  cruise  they  are  not  without  attractions.  So, 
too,  do  certain  landsmen  of  a  degraded  type  pay  homage.  But  a 
decent  man  can  only  regard  them  with  pity  and  sorrow.  The  only 
girl  we  ever  saw  in  a  dance-house,  in  whom  we  could  detect  any 


860  LITTLE  "  CHESTER:' 

comeliness  or  refinement,  was  a  daughter  of  a  former  lieutenant- 
governor  of  a  New-England  State ;  and  she  had  been  there  but  a 
few  hours. 

The  first  time  we  entered  John  Allen's  dance-house,  we  found  it 
in  full  blast :  it  was  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  There  were  thirteen 
girls  in  the  room,  three  musicians,  and  seven  customers  submitting 
to  the  blandishments  of  an  equal  number  of  the  sirens  who  pervaded 
the  room.  Our  party  consisted  of  the  policeman  who  accompanied 
us,  three  cleigymen  on  the  lookout  for  the  "elephant,"  Mr.  Alliert 
C  Arnold  of  the  Howard  Mission,  and  the  writer.  Tlie  wickedest 
man  was  in  his  glory.  Things  were  moving  briskly ;  ordered  the 
orchestra  to  do  their  best,  and  ordered  the  girls  to  "  break  our 
hearts."  A  vigorous  dance  followed,  after  which  the  proprietor  called 
out,  — 

"  Hartford,  go  up  and  get  my  baby."  Hartford  turned  out  to  be 
one  of  the  girls,  and  soon  returned,  bearing  in  her  arms  an  undressed, 
sleepy  child.  This  was  the  juvenile  prodigy.  The  father  took  him 
in  his  arms  with  a  glow  of  pride  and  affection. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  you  are  writers,  philosophers,  and  preachers; 
but  I'll  show  you  that  my  baby  knows  as  much  as  any  of  you. 
He's  hell  on  reading,  writing,  praying,  and  fighting."  And,  without 
more  ado,  he  stood  the  little  fellow  upon  the  floor,  and  began  to 
catechize  him  in  ancient  and  profane  and  modern  history,  geography, 
with  a  result  that  astonished  all.  Suddenly  he  exclaimed,  "  '  Clics- 
ter,'  —  that's  the  child's  name,  —  give  me  a  song !  "  and  "  Chester" 
gave  us  a  song. 

"  Now,  '  Chester,'  give  us  a  '  break-down,'  the  orchestra  a  '  break- 
down ; '  "  and  "  Chester  "  danced  it  with  precision  and  vigor,  and  his 
mother  looked  on  with  d<.'light. 

"  Now,  '  Chester,'  give  us  a  '  prayer : '"  and  the  child  recited  first 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  then  others,  mixed  with  so  much  ribaldry 
and  profanity  on  the  father's  part  as  cut  us  to  the  heart. 

And  here  we  got  a  glimpse  of  the  pre-eminent  wickedness  of  tiie 
man,  —  wickedness  which  is  leading  him  to  train  up  that  idolized 
boy  in  a  way  and  in  au  atmosphere  which  will  yet  make  him  an 


"  GRIT  AND  GRACE."  861 

object  of  disgust  and  loathing,  even  to  his  own  heart.'  For  that 
dance-house  child,  there  seems  to  be  no  spiritual  hope.  The  sacred 
and  profane  are  so  mingled  up,  that  he  will  never  be  able  to  tell 
which  is  sacred  and  which  is  profane.  Ho  will  grow  up  in  the  high- 
est possible  type  of  wickedness  —  if  he  grows  up  at  all.  Of  all  the 
cases  we  have  ever  seen,  Chester  Allen  gives  us  the  keenest  pang. 

After  the  infant  phenomenon  had  been  sent  back  to  bed,  his 
father  asked  our  party  if  we  wouldn't  "mix  in"  and  have  a  dance 
with  the  girls.  "  It  will  do  you  good,"  said  he,  "to  trip  it  a  little 
on  the  light  fantastic.  Besides,  I  like  to  do  the  fair  thing  by  dis- 
tinguished men.  I  am  fond  of  literary  people,  and  especially  of 
clergymen.  I  have  three  brothers  who  adorn  the  sacred  calling,  and 
grit  and  grace  run  through  our  family  like  the  Tigris  and  tlie  Jordan 
through  the  Holy  Land.  Go  in,  gentlemen :  the  girls  shall  not  hurt 
you.  I  will  watch  over  you  like  a  hen  over  her  chickens,  and  you 
shall  leave  my  premises  as  virtuous  as  you  came  in.  Ha,  lia! 
come,  what  shall  it  be? "  On  being  assured  that  we  would  not  "trip 
it  on  the  light  fantastic,"  he  asked  us  if  we  (that  is,  our  party)  would 
not  favor  the  girls  with  a  song :  whereupon  Mr.  Arnold  suggested 
that  we  should  all  sing  together,  and  asked  the  girls  what  they  would 
like  best.  Several  of  them  immediately  responded  in  favor  of  "There 
is  rest  for  the  weary."  —  "Do  you  know  that?"  one  of  the  clergy- 
men asked.  "Yes!"  answered  at  least  half  a  dozen  of  the  girls. 
"  Where  did  you  learn  it?"  asked  another  of  the  clergymen.  "At 
sabbath  school,"  was  the  reply.  We  all  looked  at  one  another. 
Here  was  a  revelation.  These  girls  had  been  brought  up  to  attend 
sabbath  school.  Perhaps  they  were  daughters  of  Christian  parents  ! 
But  we  had  not  time  to  pursue  this  painful  speculation,  for  the  girls 
began  to  sing,  — 

"In  the  Christian's  home  in  glory 
There  remains  a  land  of  rest; 
And  my  Saviour's  gone  before  me, 
To  fulfil  my  soul's  request. 
Chorus.  — There  is  rest  for  the  weary, 

There  is  rest  for  you.  ' 


852      A   QUEER  PLACE  FOR  A   "  CHRISTIAN  OBSERVER:' 

On  the  other  siilo  of  Jordan, 
In  the  sweet  fiehls  of  Etlen, 
Where  the  tree  of  life  is  blooming, 
There  is  rest  for  you." 

And  oh,  with  what  fervor  and  pathos  they  sang !  especially  the 
chorus,  which,  at  the  end  of  each  verse,  tliey  sang  three  times  over. 
ISome  of  tliem  sat  weeping  as  tliey  sang. 

Since  that  occasion  we  have  repeatedly  visited  the  abode  of  the 
wickedest  man  in  New  York,  but  all  our  efforts  to  get  any  vital  hold 
on  him  have  been  in  vain.  He  is  always  cordial,  always  ready  to 
let  the  girls  "have  a  spiritual  sing:"  he  will  even  permit  a  little 
exhortation  in  his  dancing-saloon,  and  is  free  with  his  "  Independ- 
ent" and  his  "Christian  Observer." 

But  he  keeps  on  his  way  with  unyielding  pertinacity.  On  one 
occasion  a  party  suggested  that  he  should  let  us  have  a  prayer-meet- 
ing in  his  saloon.  After  a  little  reflection,  he  replied,  "Well,  no, 
gentlemen  :  I  can't  go  that.  You  know  that  every  man  must  have 
regard  to  Ir.s  profession,  and  the  opinions  of  his  neighbors.  What 
with  my  '  Observer '  and  '  Independent,'  and  you  fellows  coming 
here  and  singing  camp-meeting  songs,  I  am  already  looked  upon  in 
the  neighborhood  as  being  rather  loose  and  unsound ;  and  if,  upon 
top  of  all  that,  I  should  let  you  hold  a  prayer-meeting  here,  I  should 
lose  the  little  character  that  I've  left."  But  our  friend  Arnold  of  the 
Howard  Mission  was  determined  to  achieve  the  prayer-meeting ;  and 
during  the  fourth  week  in  May  last,  when  there  were  many  of  his 
clerical  friends  in  the  city,  Mr.  Arnold  thought  he  would  bring  a 
heavy  spiritual  cannonade  to  bear  on  Allen,  and  see  what  would  come 
of  it.  ho,  on  Monday  night,  May  25,  after  a  carefully  conducted 
prehmmary  season  of  prayer,  an  assaulting  party  was  formed,  mclud- 
ing  six  clergymen  from  different  parts  of  the  country,  to  march  upon 
the  citadel  of  the  enemy.  When  we  arrived,  it  .vas  half -past  twelve. 
The  window-shutters  were  closed,  and  we  feared  we  were  too  late. 
But  a  light  shone  through  the  window  over  the  door ;  and,  on  appli- 
cation, we  were  admitted,  and  received  a  hearty  welcome.  Allen  just 
then  was  undergoing  a  shampooing  process,  for  the  purpose,  as  he 


A  PRAYER   IN  A   DANCE-HOUSS.  353 

frankly  said,  of  enabling  him  to  go  to  hod  sober.  He  added,  "  You 
see,  gentlemen,  it  won't  do  for  a  business  man,  or  a  literary  man 
either,  to  go  to  bed  drunk.  So,  now,  just  take  my  advice,  and,  when- 
ever you  find  youi-self  drunk  alwut  bed-time,  you  just  take  a  gootl 
shampoo,  and  you  will  find  the  investment  will  pay  a  big  dividend  in 
the  morning.  But  walk  into  the  saloon,  gentlemen,  walk  in.  The 
girls  are  in  there,  taking  a  rest  and  a  smoke  after  the  arduous  dutiea 
of  the  evening.  Walk  in."  We  walked  in,  and  found  the  girls 
smoking  pipes,  and  sitting  and  lounging  about  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  Allen  came  in,  and  proposed  to  have  the  girls 
dance  for  us  ;  but  we  declined.  "  Well,  then,  Arnold,  let's  have  i\ 
song!"  he  exclaimed.  Mr.  Arnold,  as  usual,  asked  the  girls  what 
they  would  like  to  have ;  and  they  at  once  asked  for  their  favorite, 
"There  is  rest  for  the  weary." — "Here,  mother,  give  me  my 
fiddle,"  said  Allen  to  his  wife,  "  and  bring  out  the  '  books ; '  "  mean- 
ing "Tlie  Little  Wanderer's  Friend,"  of  which  he  keeps  a  supply. 

The  books  were  got  out  by  one  of  the  girls,  the  fiddle  was  handed 
him  by  his  wife,  and  Allen  led  off  on  the  treble,  all  hands  joining 
in.  There  were  eleven  girls  in  the  room  ;  and  they  sang  tlie  chorus 
with  unusual  feiTor,  even  for  them.  As  soon  as  this  song  was  fin- 
ished, a  couple  of  the  giils  simultaneously  asked  for  "Tliere's  a  light 
in  the  window  for  thee,  brother,"  which  was  sung  with  emphasis  and 
feeling.  Mr.  Arnold,  believing  that  the  hour  had  come,  tapping 
Allen  on  the  shoulder,  said,  "Well,  John,  old  boy,  give  us  your 
hand.  I  feel  just  like  praying  here  with  you."  Allen  took  the  ex- 
tended hand,  and  gruffly  said,  "What!  j>ray  ?  Do  you  mean  pray? 
No,  never ! " 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  "  I  am  going  to  pray  here,  any- 
how. If  I  do  not  pray  loud,  I'll  pray  soft.  You  sha'n't  lose  the 
prayer,  anyhow."  —  "Well,  Arnold,  mind  now,  if  you  pray,  I'll  not 
hear  you ;  mmd  that.  I  don't  know  any  thmg  about  it.  I  won't 
hear  you ;  "  and  backing  slowly  out  of  the  room,  and  repeating  "I 
won't  hear  you"  over  and  over  again,  Allen  went  through  the  door 
leading  to  the  bar,  and  closed  it  after  him.  Mr.  Arnold  then  invited 
the  girls  to  join  in  prayer  with  him,  which  they  did,  —  some  of  them 


854  "  THESE  POOR  GIRLS." 

kneeling  on  the  floor,  others  l)owin<5  tlieir  headd  uix)n  tlieir  hands,  — 
while  Allen  peered  through  the  window  of  the  partition-door  upon 
the  singular  scene.  Many  of  the  girls  arose  sohhing ;  and  several 
of  them  crowded  around  Mr.  Arnold,  and  liegged  hini,  in  the  name 
of  God,  to  take  them  from  that  place. 

They  would  work  their  iiands  off  if  honest  work  could  be  got  for 
them  :  they  would  submit  to  any  hardship  if  they  couUl  only  be  re- 
stored to  opportunities  for  virtue  and  a  Christian  life.  Take  them 
from  this  place  —  where  could  he  take  them?  In  nil  this  Christian 
land,  there  is  not  a  Christian  home  that  would  open  their  doors  to 
a  repentant  female  sinner,  except  to  turn  her  out  of  the  house. 

On  calling  on  Mr.  Arnold  the  next  day,  we  found  him  m  the  room 
of  the  mission,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  the  table  as  though  in 
jl^rayer.  "  Sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  to  be  done  about  tiiis?"  — 
"About  what?"  we  asked.  "These  poor  girls,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  been  thinking  and  praying  all  night,  but  I  can  see  no  ligiit. 
Sir"  (pressing  my  hand),  "  I  sh.all  go  mad.  There  are  about  forty 
Klance-houses  in  Mr.  Allen's  neighborhood.  Each  one  requires  a 
:re-enforeenient  of  eighty  girls,  amounting  to  a  trifle  of  over  six  a 
day  for  each  one  of  them,  —  about  six  fresh  girls  a  day,  Sunday 
aucluded."  ^ 

Naturally,  the  publication  of  Mr.  Dyer's  article  centred  upon 
John  Allen  for  a  while  public  attention ;  and  certain  clergy- 
men called  upon  him,  and  endeavored  to  convert  him. 

In  a  few  weeks  John  Allen's  dance-house  was  closed  for  the 
•first  time  in  seventeen  years.  And  the  next  day  it  was  an- 
nounced tliat  Allen  had  abandoned  forever  his  infamous  voca- 
tion. Alas!  this  announcement  did  not  prove  true.  The 
wickedest  man  went  back  to  his  wickedness  once  more ;  but 
still,  much  benefit  had  indirectly  been  done.  A  great  many 
sinners,  unlike  Allen,  remained  true  to  their  pledges ;  and,  on 
the  whole,  the  effect  of  the  "  movement  "  was  for  good.  And 
one  thing  is  certain :  had  the  good  work  been  carried  on  stead- 


KIT  nURNS. 

ill/,  and  as  earnestlif  as  it  had  been  commenced ;  luid  the  parties 
concerned  on  the  Lord's  side  "  not  been  weary  in  well-doing ; " 
had  they  persisted  in  their  efforts  "in  season  and  out  of  season," 
as  did  "the  great  apostle  of  the  Gentiles,"  —  Paul,  —  the  result 
of  their  labors  of  love  would  have  been  vastly  greater.  But 
discouraged  by  the  backsliding  of  the  principal  sinner,  and 
sensitive  to  the  remarks  of  the  daily  press,  and  obtaining  au 
unpleasant  notoriety,  tlie  Christian  and  temperance  leaders,  to 
use  the  expressive  language  of  the  prize-ring,  "threw  up  the 
sponge,"  and  left  Rum  and  the  Devil  in  possession  of  the  field. 

Spasmodic  efforts  avail  little  in  temperance,  religion,  or  any 
thing  else.  It  is  the  steady,  persistent  fighters,  like  Wellington 
and  Grant,  who  never  know  or  care  when  they  are  defeated, 
but  who  fight  right  on,  who  win  the  fight  at  last.  Another 
attempt  at  what  may  be  called  "sensational  conversion"  was 
made  years  ago  at  the  rat-pit  of  the  dog-fighter  Kit  Burns, 
who  was  in  his  time  one  of  the  "characters"  of  New  York. 

Kit  Burns's  place  was  known  as  "  Sportsman's  Hall."  It  was 
a  plain  brick  building  on  Water  Street,  with  the  lower  portion 
painted  green,  and  a  small  gas-lamp  in  front  of  the  door. 

The  "  bar  "  at  Kit  Burns's  was  like  all  other  "  bars  "  in  Water 
Street,  only  more  copiously  stocked  with  liquor  ;  but  the  great 
"attraction"  of  the  place  was  the  room  fitted  up  as  an  amphi- 
theatre, or  "pit."  The  seats  were  rough,  very  rough  benches, 
and  the  pit,  or  ring,  was  enclosed  by  a  wooden  fence,  forming  a 
circle  several  feet  in  height.  There  the  rat-fights  and  dog- 
fights were  held  and  largely  attended,  a3%  and  by  men  some- 
times of  money,  and  social  or  political  position. 

These  dog  and  rat  fights  were  terrible  spectacles  of  degraded 
and  drunken  humanity  witnessing  pluck  and  suffering.  But 
the  dogs  and  rats  were  less  beastly  than  the  men.  During  the 
Water-street  revival  at  John  Allen's,  the  parties  conducting 
the  movement  made  an  effort  to  bring  Kit  Burns  under  the 


856  "  A  WFUL   GARDNER." 

influence  of  temperance  and  religion.  But  he  resisted  their 
efforts.  Then  the  revivalist  hired  Kit's  r*it-pit,  and  used  it 
for  daily  religious  services. 

There,  as  in  the  case  of  John  Allen,  less  ^^eenaational"  good 
was  accomplished  than  the  conductors  of  the  movement  ex- 
pected and  desired.  And  so  they  became  discouraged.  But, 
in  reality,  a  great  deal  of  good  was  attained,  though  in  a  quiet 
way,  among  the  more  obscure  sinners.  The  real  mistake  made 
was,  not  in  beginning  these  revivals,  but  in  ever  ahandoning 
them.  Temperance  raids,  religious  raids,  like  police  raids, 
accomplish  far  less  good  than  steady,  moderate,  but  ceaseless 
effort.  And  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  that  although  the  noto- 
rious  sinners,  John  Allen  and  Kit  Burns,  persisted  in  their  in- 
iquities, spite  the  revivals  at  their  places,  two  other  sinners 
(almost  as  notorious)  have  been  reformed,  and  have  remained 
reformed  to-day,  and  are  prominent  examples  of  what  temper- 
ance and  true  '•eligion  can  do,  even  for  the  vilest.  I  allude  to 
"  Awful  Gardner  "  and  "  Jerry  McAuley." 

Awful,  or  Orville,  Gardner  was  for  years  a  notorious  drunkard, 
pugilist,  and  gambler,  a  champion  of  evil.  But  he  became 
converted,  and  at  once  proved  that  his  conversion  was  sincere. 
He  forsook  the  prize-ring  and  the  card-tables  with  their  villaii- 
ous  associations,  and  lived  like  an  honest  man,  by  honest  means, 
and  among  honest  men  and  women.  He  had  been  for  years  a 
"  chum  "  of  J(jhn  Allen,  a  constant  feature  of  his  dance-house. 
And  Allen,  and  the  rest  of  his  set,  "  took  no  stock,"  as  it  is 
called,  in  his  conversion.  When  his  reformation  was  announced, 
it  was  pronounced  "  a  dodge  j "  and  bets  M'ere  offered  that  ho 
would  be  "worse  than  ever  "  in  a  month.  But  the  month 
passed ;  and  Gardner  still  was  honest,  sober,  and  religious. 
Three  months  passed,  and  still  he  manifested  those  three  vir- 
tues. A  year  passed :  still  he  held  on  to  his  honesty,  to  his 
temperance,  and  to  his  God.     He  was  a  man  of  his  word :  he 


JERRV  MCAULET.  357 

had  taken  a  solemn  pledge  "to  serve  God  as  faithfully  in  the 
future  as  he  had  served  the  Devil  in  the  past,"  and  he  kept 
his  vow.  From  that  day  on  he  has  indorsed  his  oath  by  a  life 
of  an  irreproachable  character. 

And  Jerry  McAuley,  who  was  once  a  "rough  "  and  a  "tough," 
is  to-tlay  himself  a  temperance  reformer,  and  conducts  a  suc- 
cessful "mission-house  "  here  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  vilest 
sections  of  the  metropolis,  directly  adjoining  one  of  the  most 
disgustingly  popular  of  the  drinking-haunts  of  New  York, — 
"  the  infamous  Cremorne."  There  is  abundant  encouragement 
to  be  derived,  after  all,  from  the  records  of  the  endeavors  of 
the  past.  Even  the  failures  made  by  the  good  men  and  women 
before  us  are  full  of  instruction  and  profit  if  only  read  aright. 

All  that  the  good  people  of  New  York,  or  of  any  other  and  all 
other  cities,  have  got  to  do  to  reform  the  bad,  is,  to  be  as 
earnest  and  as  persistent  in  good  as  the  bad  are  in  evil.  The 
rum-seller  does  not  sell  rum  by  "  spasms,"  or  for  "sensation  :  " 
he  sells  it  all  the  time  for  profit.  So  the  Christian  reformer 
and  the  temperance  advocate  should  not  seek  to  do  good  by 
spasmodic  "  revivals  "  only,  nor  to  obtain  notoriety.  No  :  they 
should  do  their  good  as  the  sinner  and  the  rum-seller  do  their 
evil,  —  regularly,  steadily,  with  a  due  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  with  a  sljgle  desire  to  gain  their  end,  and  all  the  time. 

Then  they  will  be  sure  to  8uccf;ed,  and  then  only. 


■.  t. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


—  TIIK  TKirni  AUOUT  TIIK   MAN  AND  lIlS  PLACK.  — TIIL  "  U AUII.I.K       AND 

mcoloky'h  den. —  '* TIIK  uaymaukkt"  and  "the  DIVK8."— tub  meal 

TRUUULB  WITH  THE  TKHPRIiANCK   MOVEMENT. 

In  a  preceding  chapter  I  have  endeavored  to  show  liow  vilo 
the  liquor  strongholds  of  the  metropolis  have  been  in  the  pasit. 
But  New  York  i.s  just  as  liquor-cursed,  just  as  rum-vile,  to-day, 
as  in  the  days  or  nights  of  Kit  Burns  and  John  Allen. 

There  is  "  Harry  Hill's,"  for  example.  This  place  has  been 
so  frequently  described,  that  its  proprietor  has  learned  to  look 
upon  these  descriptions  as  "  advertisements."  Consequently,  I 
do  NOT  propose  to  give  Mr.  Harry  Hill  an  "ad."  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  none  of  the  printed  descriptions  of  this  notorious  den 
have  been  truthful.  They  have  either  exaggerated  its  attrac- 
tions, or  failed  to  do  justice  to  the  singular,  the  absolutely 
unique,  character  of  its  proprietor. 

"  Harry  Hill's "  is  not  really  an  attractive  place  at  all  to 
those  who  are  accustomed,  in  any  degree,  to  appreciate  attrac- 
tions. As  a  "theatre,"  the  place  is  absolutely  unworthy  of 
notice ,  the  stage  being  small,  the  company  being  cheap,  and 
hardly  worth  their  money  at  that,  and  the  programme  being 
poor.  In  fact,  the  "theatre"  serves  but  as  an  excuse  for  the 
"  beer-hall,"  the  "  wine-room,"  and  "  the  dance-house." 

The  distinctive  feature  of  this,  and  the  other  similar  dance- 
houses,  is,  that  women  from  the  streets  are  admitted  "free," 
—  free  from  the  necessity  of  a  male  escort  or  an  admission-fee. 

358 


"TTIE  ONLY  MAJf  OF  HTS  KINT)."  859 

A  mnn  miiHt  pay,  to  enter  Hurry  IliU'H,  his  twenty-five  cents: 
ft  wonmn  can  enter  Harry  Hill'H,  a«  often  as  she  pleuseH,  fur 
nothiiijj. 

True,  plio  must  "  belmvo  lun'Helf "  wliile  in  the  dance-hnuse  : 
she  niurtt  preserve  outward  decorum.  Hut  the  fact  remains, 
that  she  attends  the  "perftirniiinces"  at  Harry  Hill's  only  for 
one  of  two  reasons,  or  for  both,  —  either  to  swill  beer  or 
"drink  wine,"  if  invited  to  do  so,  or  to  solicit  indirectly,  or  to 
bo  solicited  directly  by,  men. 

Whatever  credit  (?),  if  any,  can  be  attached  to  kopping  the 
beat  possible  kind  of  a  very  bad  house,  is  duo  to  Harry  Hill. 
He  sees  that  his  women  do  not  outrage  decency,  as  they  do 
elsewhere  ;  and  he  takes  care  that  the  thieves  who  resort  to  his 
place  do  not  steal  while  in  his  house,  or  from  his  customers. 
There  are  no  "complaints"  ever  made  formally  to  the  police 
against  "Hurry  Hill's :"  and  speaking  technically,  merely  in  a 
legal  police-point  of  view,  it  does  not  deserve  to  have  any 
made  against  it;  for  the  mere  outward  form  and  letter  of  the 
law  is  never  violated  by  the  shrewd  proprietor,  who  finds  it  to 
his  interest  to  be  comparatively  decent.  But  still  the  fact 
remains,  that  the  place  is,  and  has  been  for  years,  the  most 
notorious  dance-houso  in  the  city  of  New  York ;  that  it  is 
the  nightly  rendezvous  of  gamblers,  thieves,  and  i)rostitutes  ; 
and  that  it  is,  and  long  has  been,  one  of  the  favorite  haunts  of 
the  accursed  liquor-demon. 

As  for  the  proprietor  himself,  he  is  sui  generis, — the  only 
man  of  his  kind  in  New  York,  or,  perhaps,  anywhere  else.  He 
bears  deservedly  a  high  reputation  as  a  business-man,  is  kindly 
hearted,  respected  for  his  probity  by  those  who  have  dealings 
with  him,  and  beloved  by  those  who  are  employed  by  him. 
He  has  a  very  large  and  miscellaneous  acquaintance,  and  num- 
bers among  his  friends  some  of  the  most  prominent  men  of  the 
day.  ^  .   ,      .       . 


860  THE  TWO  HARRY  11  ILLS. 

Uiit,  on  hit*  (1aiicu-hou8e  kkIc,  Hurry  Ilill  \»  Hlinply  a  tnifTicker 
in  bad  riini  unci  bud  wunien,  —  a  niun  who,  by  h'm  very  popu- 
larity, douM  liurni  to  tliti  uiiwury.  Tiieru  itt  no  uue  in  mincing 
niutturti;  und  lor  onuu  lut  the  truth  bo  written,  ju8t  us  it  is, 
about  Hurry  Hill. 

The  writer  know.s  him  well,  und  likes  one  Hurry  Hill  — 
Hurry  Hill  the  niun  —  very  well  indeed;  but  for  Hurry  Hill 
the  dunce-house  keeper  und  rum-8eller,  ho  hu«,  and  every  true 
nnin  cun't  well  help  luiving,  an  umjuulihed  contempt. 

How  there  cnn  be  two  men,  two  Hurry  Hills,  so  different, 
combined  in  the  one  mun,  the  one  Hurry  Hill,  is  u  problem  I 
cannot  solve.  I)ut,  luckily,  I  urn  not  called  upon  to  solve  it, 
but  only  to  describe  it,  us  I  have  endeuvored  to  do,  without 
mulice,  and  in  the  feur  of  the  Lord. 

All  good  men  will  shun,  und  all  men  who  wish  to  renuviu 
good  jt/t«u/ci  shun,  Hurry  Hill's  just  as  they  would  a  small-pox 
hospit.il  i  for  a  place  where  no  virtuous  woman  ever  enters 
should  never  be  entered  by  a  decent  man. 

And  New  York  is  full  of  places  which  are  even  worse  than 
Hurry  Hill's,  if  worse  bo  possible, — places  which  are  even 
lower,  less  outwardly  decorous,  more  inwardly  vile,  such  as 
"The  Allen's  Mubille,"  as  it  is  culled,  and  McGlory's  den. 

At  the  former  place,  in  the  imme'"ute  vicinity  of  Hurry 
Hill's,  thieves  und  courtesans  duily  and  nightly  congregate  , 
and,  of  course,  liquor,  and  very  bud  liquor,  is  persistently  and 
profitably  sold.  And  ever  and  anon  public  "  bulls,"  "  masked  " 
balls  sometimes,  are  held  at  the  Mabille,  and  very  largely 
attended,  not  only  by  the  "  flash  "  class,  but  by  those  who 
should  know  and  do  better,  —  the  so-called  "swells"  of  the 
upper  classes  of  society,  "  men-about-town,"  etc.,  who  thus 
then  and  there  patronize  pandemonium. 

.  As  for  McGlory's  den,  it  is  a  vile  hole,  indescribably  disgust- 
ing.    There  is  really  nothing  attractive   about   it,  except  its 


VILX,   VlLSn,   riLKST.  861 

very  repulMivcncss.  It  makes  not  the  HlighteMt  pretence  to 
beauty  or  to  urt.  There  is  not  the  sliglitcttt  indiciition  of 
refiueineiit.  Thoro  is  reully  no  comfort :  the  liquor  m  vile, 
tlie  people  who  drink  it  are  viler,  and  the  muu  who  "runs"  the 
beastly  rum-hole  is  the  vilest  of  all. 

Hero  murderous  assaults  have  been  committed  with  imptt- 
nity;  hero  people  have  been  robbed  unblushiiigly;  here  rivalry, 
blasphemy,  and  obscenity  can  be  heard  constantly;  here  the 
worst  of  men  mingle  with  the  vilest  of  women,  both  classes  of 
wretches  on  the  lookout  for  victims  brought  here  by  curiosity, 
under  the  insane  idea  that  they  are  "seeing  life,"  when  really 
they  are  "seeing"  the  only  part  of  "life"  not  worth  the  see- 
ing; liere  a  "rough,"  who  was  head  bar-keeper  of  this  "hell," 
recently  attempted  to  kill  a  policeman,  and  was  himself  killed ; 
and  here  every  crime  tliat  can  disgrace  humanity  is  represented. 

This  den  of  McGlory's  has  recently  been  brought  into 
prominence  by  the  colossal  "cheek"  of  McGlory  himself,  who, 
taking  advantage,  by  a  trick,  of  the  representatives  of  the 
proprietors  of  the  Brunswick  Hotel,  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
able establishments  on  Fifth  Avenue,  absolutely  engaged  a 
parlor  at  the  Brunswick,  and  gave  a  post-midnight  supper  to 
his  gang  of  "girls"  and  "roughs,"  who  made  night  hideous 
with  their  oigies,  and  stirred  Fifth  Avenue  down  to  its  very 
foundations. 

It  is  now  claimed,  that  the  idea  of  this  colossal  combined 
"sell "  and  "  spree  "  did  not  originate  with  McGlory  himself,  but 
was  done  at  the  instigation,  and  with  the  financial  "backing," 
of  certain  prominent  parties  in  society,  who  were  unfriendly 
to  the  management  of  the  Brunswick.  But,  at  any  rate,  the 
affair  was  successfully  and  skilfully  engendered  by  McGlory, 
,  who  spent  a  large  sum  of  money  on  it,  and  received  from  it 
an  enormous  advertisement,  worth  ten  times  the  money  spent. 

Now,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  do  what  the  proprietors  of  the 


362       "MCGLORT'S  DEN"   AND  "THE  UAYMARKET.'* 

Brunswick  unwittingly  did,  and  "  advertise "  McGlory  by 
"abusing  "  him.  lie  and  his  den,  and  all  such  men  as  he,  and 
all  such  places  as  his,  are  really  not  worth  the  elaborate  pen- 
and-ink  descriptions  that  have  been  wasted  upon  them. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  all  these  haunts  of  vice  and  rum  are 
disgustingly  similar,  and  will  NOT  repay  the  trouble,  expense, 
or  risk  of  a  personal  visit.  I  am  writing  of  them  as  they  are ; 
and  I  do  not  intend  that  any  glamour  of  romance  or  poetry 
shall  be  thrown  around  them,  for  there  is  not  a  particle  of 
romance  or  charm  about  them. 

T-^.ke  the  ITaymarket,  for  example :  what  can  really  be  less 
poetical  or  attractive  than  this  notorious  place  ?  A  floor 
almost  as  dirty  as  a  stable,  with  vestiges  here  and  there  of 
tawdry  finery,  with  a  bar  at  one  side,  and  staircases  on  either 
side,  leading  to  a  second  floor,  or  gallery,  with  wine-room,  or 
platform,  to  the  rear,  and  a  sort  of  snpper-room  to  one  side, 
and  tables  and  chairs  of  the  rudest  description  everywhere, 
with  a  small  stage,  accommodating  a  noisy  orchestra  at  one 
end  ;  and  a  space  on  the  middle  of  the  floor  reserved  for  dan- 
cing, where  women,  foul  from  the  streets,  whirl  round  in  the 
arms  of  men,  smoking  cigars ;  while  on  all  sides,  around  and 
above,  men  and  women,  thieves  and  prostitutes,  look  on,  laugh, 
sneer,  curse,  or  ap])laud,  as  the  case  may  be,  amid  clouds  of 
tobacco-smoke  and  the  fumes  of  villanous  whiskey.  Such  is 
the  appearance  of  the  ITaymarket  any  and  every  night  from 
ten  o'clock  till  two ;  and,  certainly,  there  is  nothing  very  capti- 
vating about  all  this. 

"  The  Cremorne  "  is  even  lower  and  less  attractive  than  the 
Haymarket,  being  only  a  free-and-easy  of  the  lowest  grade; 
and  the  "Lava  Beds,"  so  called,  on  Sixth  Avenue,  around 
Thirtieth  Street,  are  merely  localities  devoted  to  drinking- 
saloons,  like  the  notorious  "  Empire,"  where  the  appetites  of 
degraded  women  are  catered  to  by  men  even  more  degraded, 


"STRAINIXG  AT  GNATS  AND  SWALLOWING  CAMELS."   363 

and  wliere  boys,  girls,  men,  and  women  drink  and  often  quarrel, 
undisturbed  by  the  police,  —  the  wonderful  and  wonderfully 
inconsistent  New- York  police,  which,  while  it  puts  a  stop  to 
what  at  least  claims  to  be  a  devout  representation  of  religious 
mysteries,  does  not  put  a  stop  to  "  The  French  IMadarae's,"  or 
a  score  of  dens  which  claim  to  be  and  are  unblushing  and  alto- 
gether undevout  representatives  of  irreligion  and  depravity. 

Ah!  sometimes  when  I  think  of  the  fact,  that  the  police 
arrest  poor  candy-women  and  little  boys  for  trying  to  make  a 
few  cents  on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  and  yet  permit  Irving, 
and  the  rest  of  his  class,  to  keep  the  Sixth-avenue  "  dives " 
open  day  and  night  all  the  week  tlirough,  unmolested,  I  cannot 
help  recalling  the  words  of  Him  who  denounced  bitterly  the 
hypocrites  who  "  strained  at  a  gnat,  and  swallowed  a  camel." 

For  the  police,  if  they  chose,  could,  within  forty-eight  hours, 
close  all  tlie  places  I  have  just  described.  Just  as  Owney 
Geoghan's  vile  den  has  been  brought  to  at  least  temporary  grief 
of  late;  just  as  the  Buckingham  has  been  stopped,  —  so  all  the 
dens  in  New  York  coiild  be  wiped  out  if  the  police  were  only 
as  earnest  in  doing  their  work  as  thej-  are  in  getting  their  pay, 
—  if,  like  the  Divine  Master,  they  were  "no  respecter  of 
persons." 

Ah  !  the  real  difficulty  is,  not  to  get  the  necessary  machinery 
with  whicli  to  repress  the  infamous  liquor  traffic,  but  to  keep 
that  maclunery  up  to  doing  its  work.  The  real  trouble  with 
the  temperance  movements  has  always  been,  that  the  temper- 
ance and  reform  influences,  the  ministers,  the  authorities,  the 
police,  have  been  ever  lukewarm  in  their  duties ;  while  the  rum- 
sellers  have  been  heart  and  soul,  body  and  mind,  dollars  and 
cents,  earnest  and  energetic  in  their  profitable  sin.  Success  in 
any  thing  in  this  world  is  more  a  matter  of  mingled  prudence 
and  pluck  than  of  any  thing  else,  or  of  all  things  else  com- 
bined i  and,  alas,  alas !  the  preponderance  of  worldly  tact  and 


364  TUE  LESSON  OF  SUCCESS. 

persistent  energy  has  tlius  far  been  on  the  side  of  the  rum- 
sellers.     Hence  their  success  to  date. 

But  this  fact  carries  with  it  its  own  lesson ;  for  it  follows, 
that,  when  the  energy  and  the  prudence  of  the  temperance 
advocates  shall  equal  or  exceed  for  good  the  zeal  and  shrewd- 
ness displayed  b}'  the  rum-sellers  for  evil,  then  the  case  will  be 
reversed,  and  alcohol  will  be  dethroned.  And  it  may  here  be 
remarked,  that  the  energy  and  worldly  wisdom  shown  by  some 
of  the  converts  to  temperance,  by  the  reformed  drunkards,  sucli 
as  "  Awful "  Gardner  and  Jerry  McAuley,  previously  alluded 
to,  and  Ben  Hogan  the  reformed  pugilist,  who  lias  been  of 
late  doing  so  noble  a  work  in  Chicago  and  the  West,  puts 
to  shame  the  supineness  of  the  regular  recognized  agents  of 
reform  and  good  morals,  the  "  orthodox  "  clergymen,  the  pro- 
fessed temperance  people,  and  the  uniformed,  disciplined,  but 
inefficient  and  half-hearted,  police. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

STILL  ANOTHER  OPPORTUNITY  WON  AND  LOST. — THE  YOUNG  MEN'B  CHRIS- 
TIAN ASSOCIATION. — ITS  HISTORY  AND  GOOD  WORK.  —  I  AM  SEIZED  WITH 
AN  IDEA.  —  AND  I  PREPARE  TO  CARRY  IT  OUT. 

I  "WILL  now  resume  the  thread  of  my  personal  narrative. 
Having  "loafed"  around  New  York  in  destitution  and  dis- 
grace, idling,  and  suffering  for  lack  of  the  decencies  and  even 
the  necessaries  of  life,  a  slave  to  my  old  foe,  rum,  I  finally, 
with  the  good  luck  that  so  constantly  attended  me,  and  which 
I  as  constantly  abused,  came  across  an  old  friend,  who,  taking 
pity  on  my  distresses,  and  having  confidence  in  my  business 
talent,  first  exacted  from  me  a  pledge  that  I  would  cease  drink- 
ing, and  then  advanced  me  a  sum  of  money  to  invest  in  the 
restaurant  business. 

I  accordingly  went  on  at  once  to  Boston,  and  opened  a  place 
at  No.  21  South  Street.  Once  more  an  all-merciful  Provi- 
dence had  put  me  on  my  feet,  and  given  me  a  chance,  —  my 
tenth  or  fifteenth  chance.  But,  alas,  alas,  alas!  although  I  had 
given  my  pledge  not  to  drink,  I  violated  it  in  a  few  weeks.  I 
promised  in  good  faith ;  but  rum  had  ruined  my  free  will,  as  it 
always  does.  And  I  did  not  keep  my  vow.  My  new  specu- 
lation ended —  as  my  old  speculations  had  all  ended — in  fail-, 
ure,  brought  on  by  rum, — rum  simply,  and  rum  solely,  and 
rum  altogether. 

I  was  then  compelled  to  seek  assistance  for  the  very  necessa- 
ries of  ]^ie.  And,  among  other  places,  I  applied  in  my  distress 
to  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  Rooms.    There  I  met 


866  TUB  Y.M.C.A. 

Mr.  D.  Bancs  McKenzie,  who  took  a  true  Christian's  kindly 
interest  in  my  case.  He  had  been,  I  understodd,  a  sufferer 
once  himself  from  my  own  dread  moral,  spiritual,  and  pliysical 
disease,  intemperance,  but  had  reformed  and  recovered,  and 
had  devoted  himself  to  rescuing  unfortunates  like  me.  He 
substantially  befriended  me,  even  to  such  a  great  degree  that 
I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  repay  him.  I  hope,  God  giving 
me  health  and  strengtli,  to  show  this  man,  who  is  doing  so 
much  for  humanity  at  large,  that  at  least  I  feel  grateful  for  his 
kindness. 

And  here  let  me  say  a  few  words  relative  to  Young  Men's 
Christian  Associations,  which  are  justly  ranked  among  the 
memorable  achievements  and  powerful  influences  of  the  times. 

These  associations  are  now  numbered  by  the  hundreds,  and 
embrace  many  thousands  of  members.  And  as  a  writer  on  this 
subject  in  that  truly  Christian  and  altogether  admirable  peri- 
odical, "  Harper's  Magazine,"  remarks,  — 

To  bind  together  such  a  congeries  of  societies,  and  to  inform 
them  with  a  common  life,  has  required  tact,  patience,  and  uncommon 
good  judgment.  The  associations  are  examples  of  business  sln-ewd- 
ness  applied  to  Christian  aims.  For  once  worldly  wisdom,  in  tlie  best 
sense,  has  entered  into  league  witli  Christian  simplicity.  One  cannot 
read  the  instructions  for  the  formation  of  associations  witiiout  tracing 
the  marks  of  this  wisdom.  Some  of  them  run  in  tiiis  wise  :  "  Uegin 
quietly,  without  mass-meetings."  "  Avoid  debt."  "  Do  not  run  a 
race  with  a  lyceum,  or  any  like  institution  "  "  Strike  out  into  new 
paths."  "  Build  a  house  that  heats  a  public-house."  "  Keep  out  the 
talking,  otflce-seeking  men,  who  are  ready  to  seize  upon  a  new  move- 
ment so  long  as  it  adds  to  then-  popularity,  or  gratifies  their  vanity. 
At  conventions  '  show-men '  arc  not  needed,  nor  persons  simply  who 
can  make  a  good  speech."  "  Do  not  depend  upon  large  and  ambitious 
meetings  to  sustain  your  work."  "Put  your  association-room  not 
higher  than  the  second  floor,  and  furnish  it  as  a  parlor,  and  not  in  a 


THE  FOUNDER  OF  THE  Y.M.C.A.  367 

formal  manner  as  a  public  hall."  *'  Do  not  engage  as  an  association 
in  measures  of  political  reform."  Siicii  instructions  reveal  a  patient 
study  of  the  difllculties  which  are  met  in  the  path  of  every  movc- 
nieut,  and  the  methods  by  which  they  are  overcome.  There  is  a 
touch  of  satire  in  the  advice  to  keep  clear  of  windy,  talking  men. 
What  village  in  our  land  does  not  know  them?  Carlyle,  in  his 
"Stump  Orator,"  advises  that  a  bit  of  his  tongue  be  cut  off  every 
time  that  he  talks  without  doing.  The  associations  have  learned, 
that  all  "  deep  talent  is  a  talent  to  do,  and  is  intrinsically  of  silent 
nature."  They  have  a  short  word  for  the  fussy  orator:  "Much- 
talking  man,  you  may  go  down.  Your  gift  is  not  wanted  here."  Let 
it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  worldly  prudence  is  the  chief 
quality  in  the  management  of  these  associations.  It  plays  a  sub- 
ordinate part  only :  underneath  it  is  a  fervid  zeal  for  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  young  men. 

The  date  of  the  beginning  of  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Associa- 
tion was  1844;  and  Mr.  George  Williams,  the  founder,  lives  a  hale 
and  vigorous  man,  old  as  years  are  counted,  but  still  youthful  in  his 
Christian  zoal.  The  original  association  in  London  has  owed  much 
of  its  growth  to  the  energy  of  its  long-time  secretary,  Mr.  Shipton, 
who,  now  retired  from  duty,  can  look  back  with  pleasure  upon  the 
fruit  of  his  manifold  toils.  The  example  of  England  was  quickly 
copied  on  this  side  of  the  ocean  ;  and,  in  1857,  there  was  one  formed 
in  Montreal.  New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  and  other  cities, 
rapidly  followed.  In  tracing  this  history,  we  find  that  brain,  the 
ardor  of  Christian  zeal,  and  business  experience,  have  worked  to- 
gether. For  instance,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  merchants,  bankers, 
and  professional  men,  such  as  Cephas  Brainard,  James  .Stokes,  jun., 
Elliot  Monroe,  William  E.  Dodge,  jun.,  have  been  closely  linked 
with  others  whose  entire  lives  have  been  surrendered  to  this  service, 
liut  to  no  one  can  more  be  ascribed  in  the  developing  of  the  associa- 
tions in  the  United  States  than  to  Robert  R.  McBurney,  the  New- York 
secretary.  He  wields  an  unknown  power  by  suggestion,  which 
reaches  to  the  farthest  limits  of  association  interests.  He  may  be 
classed  as  one  of  the  best  examples  of  quiet,  persistent  energy. 


868  THE  ATHEIST  IN  THE  SUNDAY  SCHOOL. 

Many  will  remember  the  modest  quarters  of  the  association  in  the 
Bible  House  of  former  years.  Tlirough  the  coufldeuce  which  Mr. 
McBurncy's  executive  abilities  have  inspired,  the  funds  have  been 
collected  for  the  erection  of  the  Association  Building,  which  is  in 
every  way  worthy  of  the  conspicuous  position  it  occupies  in  the  city. 
Here,  too,  the  International  Committee  have  their  headquarters ;  and 
from  this  point,  as  a  centre,  radiates  the  work  among  railway-men, 
the  college  students,  among  the  Germans,  in  the  South  and  West, 
and  among  the  freedmen.  All  these  branches  from  the  parent-stock 
have  grown  without  human  provision.  Some  one  has  appeared  fitted 
for  a  special  service :  the  service  has  called  for  the  man,  and  the 
managers  have  had  the  sagacity  to  heed  the  call.  The  life  of  F.  von 
Schluemenbach,  who  has  charge  of  the  association  among  the  Ger- 
man young  men  in  the  United  States,  has  the  same  romantic  interest 
as  that  of  William  Nast,  the  founder  of  the  German  Methodist- 
Episcopal  Churches.  Nast  was  a  fellow-student  with  Strauss,  was 
infected  with  Straussian  scepticism,  came  to  the  United  States,  led 
for  a  time  an  aimless,  unsettled  life,  was  led  by  the  simple-hearted 
Christians  to  doubt  his  doubt,  and  to  a  hearty  acceptance  of  Christian 
faith.  Von  Schluemenbach  had  adopted  an  Epicurean,  atheistic  phi- 
losophy, had  become  a  leader  among  like-minded  young  men  of  Ger- 
man nationality,  but  through  the  earnest  expostulation  of  the  late  Gen. 
Albright  of  Pennsylvania,  and  the  awakening  of  the  recollections  of 
early  years  in  the  fatherland,  was  brought  to  a  better  mind.  Gen.  Al- 
bright, who  was  in  war  a  fearless  soldier,  and  all  the  time  a  fearless 
Christian,  introduced  the  German  atheist  to  his  Sunday  school  in 
these  terms :  '*  Here  is  my  dear  friend,  Capt.  von  Schluemenbach,  an 
infidel,  by  the  way,  who  says  there  is  no  God  ;  and  he  is  going  to 
speak  to  you,  and  tell  you  there  is  no  God,  and  to  prove  it  to  you." 
This  was  a  trying  position  for  the  German.  The  songs  of  the  chil- 
dren had  awakened  tender  feelings  ;  and  his  speech  became  a  confes- 
sion, that  he  could  not  believe  there  was  a  God.  But,  if  the  children 
knew  that  better  than  he,  they  might  as  well  pray  for  him  as  for 
others.  Led  gently,  step  after  step,  by  the  general  and  his  wife  into 
the  truth,  he  began  a  new  life.  -  - 


:r,A  DOCTOR  AND  A  RinLE-TEACHER.  369 

It  is  tlie  characteristic  of  the  association,  that  thoy  develop  lay 
activity.  Gen.  Albright  was  a  lawyer,  a  bank-president,  and  a  man 
of  aflfaii-s.  New  York  has  given  an  example  of  a  physician  and 
professor  in  a  medical  school  who  is  also  one  of  the  most  successful 
of  Bible-teachers.  Dr.  W.  II.  Thompson  for  eleven  years  has  had 
before  him,  every  Sunday  afternoon  in  Association  Hall,  an  audience 
varying  from  five  hundred  to  seven  hundred  persons,  who  have 
listened  to  his  explanations  of  the  meaning  of  Scripture.  His  (juali- 
fications  for  the  work  of  an  expositor  are  unusually  good.  He  is  the 
son  of  Rev.  Dr.  William  M.  Thomson,  the  author  of  "  The  Laud 
and  the  Book."  His  early  life  was  spent  in  Syria;  and,  as  the  East 
has  for  centuries  been  unchangeable,  be  can  furnish  out  of  the 
stores  of  his  memory  abundant  illustrations  of  Scripture  history. 
Seated  beside  a  table,  on  which  his  arm  carelessly  leans ;  using  collo- 
quial tones,  which  derive  no  advantage  from  any  power  of  voice ;  not 
at  all  fluent,  but,  on  the  contrary,  hesitating  in  utterance,  —  Dr. 
Thomson  has,  nevertheless,  learned  the  secret  of  holding  his  audi- 
ences :  one  of  the  causes  of  this  success  is,  that  the  lecturer  has 
something  to  say;  another,  that  he  does  not  "orate."  Dr.  Thom- 
son believes  that  Bible  history  may  be  made  as  interesting  as  any 
other.  "  T.ike,"  he  says,  "  the  history  of  the  founding  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church,  as  it  is  given  us  in  the  Acts,  and  illustrated  in  the 
Epistles,  and,  if  that  subject  cannot  be  made  more  interesting  than 
the  history  of  Greece  or  the  American  Revolution,  it  will  be  owing 
solely  to  the  mental  vacuity  of  the  teacher  himself,  who  has  been 
deadened  by  a  liturgical  reading  of  the  Bible  till  his  ears  are  dull  of 
hearing."  Preachers  who  speak  to  nearly  empty  pews  Sunday  after 
Sunday  may  learn  something  to  their  advantage  by  attending  the  lee* 
tures  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Thomson. 

As  I  was  once  a  railroad-man  myself,  I  may  here  remark,  that  a 
great  interest  has  been  taken  by  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
cicaon  in  railroad-men.  Cleveland  is  the  centre  from  which  work  has. 
sprung  ;  although  tentative  efTorib  have  been  made  in  St.  Albans,  Vt., 
as  early  as  1854,  and  in  Canada  in  1855,  its  success  dates  from  1872. 
Mr.  Lang  Sheafif  became  conspicuous  in  it  at  Cleveland.     In  1877  Mr. 


.     870  CHRISTIAN  ENGINEERS  AND  BRAKESMEN. 

E.  D.  Ingersoll  was  appointed  secretary  of  the  Railway  Branch  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Associations.  So  rapidly  has  this  Christian 
enterprise  grown,  thai  in  1879  a  convention  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Associations  was  held  iu  Altooua,  Penn.  There  are  now 
reading-rooms  for  railroad-men  at  thirty-three  railroad  centres,  of 
each  of  which  a  secretary  has  charge.  An  aggregate  of  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars  is  annually  api)ropriated  by  the  companies  for  this  truly 
Christian  labor.  "Mr.  Ingersoll,"  says  a  leading  railway  manager, 
"is,  indeed,  a  busy  man.  Night  and  day  he  travels.  To-day  a  rail- 
road president  wants  him  here :  to-morrow  a  manager  summons  him 
there.  He  is  going,  like  a  shuttle,  back  and  forth  through  the 
country,  weaving  the  web  of  the  Railway  Associatioi.s.  In  Indi- 
anapolis twelve  railroad  companies  aid  in  the  support  of  this  work 
of  benevolence.  In  Chicago  the  president  of  one  of  the  leading 
railroads,  the  general  manager  of  another,  the  genera?  superintendent 
of  another,  and  other  ofTlcials,  have  served  and  are  serving,  and  are 
serving  actively,  on  the  Railway-  Committee  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Associations."  The  stuff  these  men  are  made  of  may  be 
seen  from  some  of  the  reports  to  the  Altoona  convention.  One  spoke 
thus  :  "  Al)out  twelve  years  ago  we  organized  in  Stonington,  Conn., 
a  midnight  prayer-meeting  of  railroad-men.  It  was  the  hour  before 
the  starting  of  the  steamboat  night-train.  The  first  night  one  man 
was  soundly  converted,  and  continues  to-day  a  living  witness  of  the 
truth.  After  a  while  the  meetings  were  suspended ;  aud  I  heard 
nothing  more  about  the  railroad-meetings,  until  Mr.  Ingersoll,  the  rail- 
road secretary  of  the  International  Committee,  came  down  that  way. 
"  I  run  a  midnight  train  fiom  Providence,"  said  a  conductor,  "  and 
speak  almost  every  Sunday ;  and  many  of  our  railroad-men  attend. 
I  am  forty-six  years  of  age,  and  have  been  tweutv-seven  years  on 
the  road,  and  four  years  at  sea.  My  engineer  is  a  Christian  man, 
.  and  I  feel  safe  behind  him."  Are  the  passengers  of  the  midnight 
train  the  worse  off  because  the  engineer  and  conductor  are  such  men 
as  these?  A  railroad  secretary,  who  represented  Indianapolis,  said, 
"A  member  of  our  association  was  killed  last  week,  and  I  was  called 
upon  to  bury  him  :  it  was  a  sad,  a  very  sad,  duty.     He  was  a  Chris- 


PIETY  AND  COMMON  SENSE.  871 

tian  boy,  and  there  are  men  here  who  have  l»oard  him  pray.  Going 
liome  from  the  funeral,  one  of  tlie  boys,  not  a  Cliristian,  said,  'The 
Railroad  Cliristian  Association  is  doing  more  for  our  railroad-men  than 
any  tiling  else  in  the  world.'  " 

Some  may  suppose  that  the  books  provided  in  the  railroad  read- 
ing-rooms are  wholly  of  the  goody-goody  species.  Not  so.  The 
Hible  is  there,  and  is  made  the  text-book  in  the  Hil)le-clas803 ;  and 
devotional  books  do  their  precious  oflice.  Hut  these  men  have  active 
brains,  and  are  Americans.  A  secretary  snys  of  them,  "One  of  the 
first  things  they  call  for  is  railroad-works.  I  am  surprised  how  many 
inquire  for  mechanical  works  ;  and  for  that  reason  I  am  particular  to 
have  the  railroad  papers  —  '  The  Scientific  American,'  etc. — on  our 
tables.  These  are  read  more  than  the  dailies.  If  the  men  know  that 
they  are  going  to  get  something  that  will  help  in  working  up  to  a 
higiier  position,  they  will  come  to  our  rooms."  Among  tlie  Iiooks 
called  for,  as  desirable  for  the  librariis.  are  Bourne's  "  Hand-book 
of  the  Steam-Engine,"  Balfour  Stewart's  "Conservation  of  Energy," 
Pope's  "Modern  Practice  of  the  Telegraph,"  and  along  with  such 
strong  meat  aa  Henry's  "Commentaries,"  Conybeare  and  Howson's 
"St.  Paul,"  etc. 

It  is  now  time  to  consider  the  methods  by  which  these  results  have 
been  attained.  Enthusiasm  alone  will  not  account  for  them.  A  brief 
outburst  of  Chnstian  zeal  may  form  an  association  of  young  men,  but 
the  cohesive  force  of  tlie  bond  is  very  sligiit.  In  point  of  fact,  moral 
societies  outside  of  churches  fall  to  pieces  very  easily  :  the  wonder  is, 
that  many  of  them  live  from  year  to  year.  That  the  Christian  associ- 
ations have  lived  for  a  generation,  and  have  grown  so  steadily,  is  due 
to  two  facts :  they  meet  a  permanent  want,  and  they  have  been  brought 
into  unity  with  unusual  skill.  According  to  their  own  account,  their 
liistory  is  divisible  into  three  periods.  The  first  is  called  the  period 
of  confederation,  and  extends  from  1854  to  18G1.  The  former  date 
marks  the  first  annual  convention  of  the  associations  of  the  United 
States  and  the  British  Provinces,  held  at  Buffalo.  This  was  the  time 
of  infancy.  The  associations  were  experiments,  and  were  learning 
what  could  and  what  could  not  be  done.     The  second  period  is  that 


872  TUB  OROWTtl  OF  THE  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

of  the  civil  wur,  IHGl  to  18G4.  The  wiir  ohnnj^ed  at  onco  the  lal)or« 
of  the  ussoc'lutions.  Tlie  army,  whicii  nliMorhi'd  the  yoiiii}^  men  of  tiio 
period,  beciime  tlie  objoctive  point.  Army  comniittees  were  formed, 
first  for  Christian  liihorH  union<r  tlie  recruits  encamped  alwut  New  Yorit, 
and  then  for  service  in  the  Held.  A  convention  of  delegates  from  the 
Yoiinji  INfcn'H  Christian  Associations  formed  the  I'nited-States  Chris- 
tiim  Commission,  which,  us  has  lieen  Wfll  said,  was  one  of  the  most 
henellcent  agencies  ever  devised  to  alleviate  the  miseries  and  horrors 
of  war.  "  It  served  as  the  medium  by  which  the  Christian  homes, 
churches,  and  communities  of  the  country  sent  si)iritual  and  material 
comfort  to  the  soldiers  in  tlie  flehl  and  hospital."  In  the  four  years 
of  war  it  expended,  for  the  benelit  of  the  soldiers,  two  and  a  half 
millions  iu  cash,  and  nearly  three  millions  in  stores.  To  have  origi- 
nated this  agency  is  one  o(  the  crowning  glories  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Associations.  They  modestly  disclaim  any  credit  for  its 
wonderfully  wise  administration.  That  belongs  to  Mr.  George  II. 
Stuart  and  his  associates.  But  the  history  confirms  what  Lord 
Bacon  says  of  young  men  :  "  that  their  invention  is  more  lively  than 
that  of  old  men ;  and  imaginations  stream  into  their  minds  better, 
and,  as  it  were,  more  divinely."  The  third  period,  from  18G5  to  the 
present  time,  is  the  period  of  development.  In  18G9  the  test  of 
membersliip  was  adopted,  which  led  to  a  sifting,  as  well  as  a  closer 
unity.  But  the  most  capital  device  which  dates  from  this  period  was 
the  formation  of  an  International  Executive  Committee,  as  the  organ 
of  the  international  convention.  This  committee  has  its  headquarters 
in  New  York,  and  has  the  supervision  of  association  work  througliout 
America.  Its  circulars  describe  the  field  to  be  covered  in  this 
fashion  :  — 

<•'  Fifty  thousand  college  students,  one  hundred  thousand  commer- 
cial travellers,  five  hundred  thousand  German-speaking  young  men, 
live  hundred  thousand  colored  young  men,  eight  hundred  thousand 
railroad-men,  the  young  men  in  States  west  of  the  Ohio,  the  young 
men  of  the  South,  the  young  men  in  Canada,  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Associations  in  North  America,  —  a  broad  field,  certainly  ;  and, 
for  all  its  breadth,  it  is  occupied.     The  young  men  have  entered  it 


SOME  FACTS  AND  FIOURES.  878 

^.Avcly,  and  IuUmkI  to  hold  it,  na  tlioy  commonly  Miiy,  '  for  tlicir  Lonl 
and  MuHtur.'  Since  IHGG  the  coniinittuu  huH  brou^lit  up  to  ciioli 
BUCCCHsivo  intornutioiiul  convention  ix  ctiruful  ri'iiort  of  wliiit  Iiuh  hct-n 
accom[)liHlicd  uiitlor  its  8n|>crintcndeuct>,  and  Iiuh  aubuiittod  a  plan, 
witii  CHtiinatcH  of  cost,  for  the  comini;  year.  After  deeidiiij!;  on  the 
general  features  of  the  worl<:  to  be  undertaken,  tiie  convention  refers 
it  to  the  executive  committee,  witii  inHtructions  to  perfect  the  plan  in 
detail,  and  to  curry  out  its  provisions  as  far  as  the  iH>cessary  funds 
are  furnished  by  the  ussoeiations  and  the  friends  of  the  cause."  'rinis 
for  the  committee  have  had  but  one  chief  secretary,  —  Mr.  Uichard 
C.  Morse.  Mr.  Morse  is  a  graduate  of  Yale,  and  has  the  (piiek,  ner- 
vous energy  of  tlie  American  young  man.  lie  believes  it  to  be  possi- 
ble to  girdle  "le  globe  with  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations,  and, 
most  likely,  expects  to  live  long  enougii  to  see  it  done.  But  tiie  In- 
ternational Executive  Committee  reaches  Hllll  fartlier.  In  each  State 
of  our  Union,  and  in  each  of  the  Provinces  of  Canada,  it  has  a  corre- 
sponding member,  through  whom  it  reaches  State  and  Provincial  as- 
sociations. UnOer  its  inspirations  State  and  Provincial  associations 
are  held.  Each  State  is  urged  to  employ  a  secretary,  and  each  local 
association  a  gen(!ral  secretary,  both  to  devote  all  their  time  to  asso- 
ciation labors.  Of  course,  only  the  strongest  associations  can  afforil 
to  support  paid  agencies :  still,  there  are  already  one  huiulred  and 
twenty-one  general  secretaries  and  assistants,  twelve  State  secretaries, 
and  eight  international  secretaries,  making  one  hundred  and  forty-one 
in  all.  Sixty  associations  in  America  have  buildings,  and  thirty-seven 
have  building-funds  and  real  estate.  When  Mr.  Morse  entered  upon 
his  duties  in  1870,  there  was  but  one  agent  employed  by  the  Interna- 
tional Committee ;  it  had  no  more  than  $-1,700  in  hand  for  all  ex- 
penditures ;  it  now  employs  eight  special  secretaries  and  three  ofllce 
assistants,  and  expended  in  1880  the  sura  of  S24,444.  This,  for 
young  men  who  are  supposed  to  be  remarkably  impulsive,  is  an  ad- 
mirable exhibition  of  executive  power.  But  New  York  is  not  the 
sole  centre  from  which  association  enterprises  radiate.  Chicago 
shares  this  honor.  In  that  city  Mr.  D.  L.  Moody  began,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Christian  Association,  the  marvellous  evangelism  which 


ST4  A.  aLOttious  snon-txa. 

■Itrvad  over  Europe  and  Aiiu>ricu.  In  uU  liia  divorHiflcd  lubors,  Mr. 
John  V.  Furwoll  uf  (.'liiciif^o,  tliu  prcttidcnt  of  thu  uHHooiutiun,  Iiuh 
been  Ids  couiiHuUor  iind  frit-nd.  The  great  nicrc-liunt  and  thu  evan- 
gelist huvo  been  honorably  coupled  together  iu  tho  ruceut  religioim 
hintory  of  tho  North-WeHt.  Geneva,  too,  the  iiistorlc  city  of  the 
rn)toHtant  reforn)erH,  in  a  great  centre  still.  Hero  ia  tho  neat  of  tho 
W'orhl'H  Central  Coniinlttce,  which  i:im,s  to  link  together  tho  HyHtem 
of  Christian  AsHociations  throughout  the  world.  The  Becret-iry  of 
the  coininittee  in  IMr.  Charles  Fertnand,  who,  in  order  to  execute  tho 
duties  of  thu  ofllce,  has  surrendered  hla  brilliant  business  prospects, 
has  travelled  over  tho  fleld  in  Kuropu  and  America,  and  made  Ids  first 
report  to  tho  world's  convention  of  all  associations,  held  in  London 
iu  August,  1881.  Mr.  rcrniand  spent  three  years  in  cxaniining  tho 
associations  of  French  and  German  Swit/erlaiid,  Anu-rica,  England, 
and  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  France,  IJclgium,  etc.  Mr.  Fermand  had 
to  oJH'y  the  summons  to  perform  military  service  for  two  months,  in 
accordauco  with  the  requirements  of  Swiss  law.  Those  are  some  of 
the  outgrowth  of  the  little  union  of  young  men,  effected  l)y  Mr. 
George  Williams  in  1844.  AVo  can  best  show  the  fruit  by  coming 
back  to  one  association  Ijuilding,  —  that  of  New  York.  Every  secular 
day  more  than  eight  hundred  persons  enter  its  open  doors ;  to  the 
reading-room  and  gymnasium  one-third  ns  many ;  over  two  thousand 
meetings  are  held  yearly ;  that  is,  six  each  day.  In  all  this  activity, 
there  is  but  one  governing  impulse,  — that  the  best  service  to  be  ren- 
dered to  them  is,  to  lead  them  to  revere  and  love  Jesus  Christ.  This 
is  the  simple  creed  of  tho  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations.  Iu 
this  vast  comjjlexity  of  agencies,  not  one  of  them  is  employed  with 
a  malevolent  purpose.  To  every  young  man  they  do,  in  point  of 
fact,  present  the  appeal,  — 

"And  tliy  striving,  bn  It  M-lth  loving, 
And  thy  living,  deed  on  deed." 

# 

And  now  to  return  to  myself. 

Having,  through  the  agency  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  (initials  far 
more  truly  honorable  than  the  famous  S.  P.  Q.  R.  of  the  ancient 


"CnREKY"    YKT  SOUND.  875 

Romans),  through  the  kiiulnegs  of  Mr.  D.  BiuikH  McKeiizU", 
mid  tho  hlosHing  of  Huavoii,  contrived  to  rtMuuiii  Hober  for  Homo 
weekH,  I  got  (luito  ehited  with  my  novel  sobriety  ;  and  one  day 
the  idea  occurred  to  me,  why  not  give  a  temperance  U'cture  ? 
The  idea  was  rather  a  "cheeky  "  one,  I  confess,  for  u  drunkard 
who  was  not  yet  morally  certain  of  his  own  reform ;  yet,  after 
all,  it  was  not  so  wild  and  Utopian  as  it  seemed.  Who  more 
fitted  truth lully  and  vividly  to  describe  the  horrors  of  intem- 
prnince  than  the  man  who  has  personally  experienced  them? 
Besides,  I  had  some  (lualifications  for  a  popular  lecturer.  I 
had  self-possession,  a  gift  of  language,  and  a  certain  power  of 
telling  a  stOry,  which  would  serve  nie  on  the  platform  in  good 
stead.  And  then,  the  novelty  of  the  thing  would  give  it  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  Sclat ;  while  the  mere  fact  of  coming  before  the 
public  as  a  temperance  lecturer  would,  I  thought,  compel  me 
ever  afterwards  to  feel  under  a  more  than  ordinary  obligation 
to  keep  sober.  So,  for  all  these  reasons,  the  idea  of  giving  a 
temperance  lecture  seemed  just  the  thing. 

I  communicated  the  idea  to  my  friends,  and  found  that  they 
warmly  ap[>roved  of  it.  So,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  I  put  myself 
in  the  hands  of  my  friends,"  who  made  the  arrangements 
about  the  lecture  for  me.  Tremont  Temple  was  engaged  for 
Monday  evening,  May  19,  1873,  for  the  first  appearance  upon 
the  lecture-platform  of  Thomas  N.  Doutney ;  and  I  set  to  work 
to  prepare  u  lecture,  partly  based  upon  my  own  personal  expe- 
rience, and  partly  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  the  causes 
and  cure  of  intemperance.  I  threw  my  whole  stock  of  energy 
into  this  lecture.  I  meant,  at  heart,  to  reform.  I  had  been 
low  enough.  This  lecture  was  to  be  the  first  step  towards  my 
elevation.  In  the  composition  of  my  lecture,  I  experienced 
some  of  the  usual  troubles  that  await  a  man  on  his  first  essay 
at  literary  work ;  but,  as  to  the  delivery  of  the  lecture  itself,  I 
ha*^  no  fear :  I  felt  that  I  could  deliver  it,  and  that  I  would ; 


876  AN  ASSURANCE  THAT  FULFILS  ITSELF. 

and  an  assurance  like  this,  accompanied  by  the  necessary  work 
and  energy,  usually  is  fulfilled.     It  fulfils  itself. 

To  a  certain  extent  (to  what  degree  those  who  have  heard 
me  must  judge  for  themselves,  but  certainly  to  a  degree), 
I  have  the  gift  of  actuig ;  that  is,  of  delineating  emotion.  I 
have  never,  in  any  way,  been  connected  with  the  theatrical 
profession,  either  directly  or  indirectly ;  but  I  have  seen  now 
and  then  some  very  artistic  acting,  and  have  not  been  slow  in 
gathering  hints  from  what  I  saw  and  heard.  In  this  respect 
my  occasional  visits  to  the  theatre  have  not  been,  as  they  are 
to  most,  an  unmitigated  evil. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  STAGE  IN  ITS  UELATION  TO  TUK  BOTTLE.  —  THE  "  STABS  "  AND  DRUNK- 
ARDS OP  THE  PAST.  —  ESTIMABLE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  WHO  HAVE  BEEN 
MASTERED  BY  BAD  HABITS. — AND  ESTIMABLE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  WHO 
HAVE  RESISTED  THESE  BAD  HABITS. — THE  TUREE  BOOTHS. — NEW  LIGHT 
ON  THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. —THE  DRAMA  AND  THE 
DRAM. 

And  here  let  me  pause  a  moment  in  my  direct  narrative 
to  write  a  few  words  of  reminiscence,  warning,  and  advice  to 
actors  and  actresses,  and  to  "  show  "  people  in  general. 

Each  profession  has  its  strong  points  and  its  weak  ones,  —  its 
characteristic  virtues  and  vices.  The  clerical  profession  is 
elevating  and  self-denying,  but  it  is  peculiarly  liable  to  the 
besetting  sin  of  "spiritual  pride."  The  law  is  liberal,  but  has  a 
tendency  to  trickery.  Medicine  is  both  liberal  and  elevating, 
but  has  a  tendency  to  materialism  and  to  infidelity.  While  the 
theatrical  profession,  though  the  most  "  charitable  "  branch  of 
occupation  known  to  man,  always  kindly  hearted  and  open- 
handed,  has  its  own  peculiar  vice,  intemperance.  One  of  the 
greatest  actors  the  English-speaking  stage  has  seen,  Edmund 
Kean,  was  an  inveterate  drunkard,  the  abject  slave  of  wine,  — 
a  man  who  clouded  his  genius  and  shortened  his  life  b/  his 
terrible  excesses.  And  the  man  to  whom  he,  when  in  this 
country,  erected  a  monument,  the  actor  Cooke,  was  another 
genius  and  another  drunkard.  One  of  the  greatest  actors 
known  to  the  American  stage,  the  elder  Booth,  was  the  slave 
of  drink ;  and  many  are  the  serio-comic  and  almost  tragic 
stories  recorded  of  the  drinking  bouts  of  this  extraordinary 

37T 


878  GREAT  LIGHTS  EXTINGUISHED. 

genius.  J.  R.  Scott,  in  his  days  the  rival  of  Edwin  Forrest, 
fell  a  victim  to  "  tlie  flowing  bowl ;  "  as  did  the  bright  gentle- 
man Perry,  the  leading  man,  and  that  incomparable  light  come- 
dian Mortimer,  —  ay,  the  very  man  who  for  years  made  fame  and 
fortune  by  acting  the  rdle  of  the  drunkard  in  Barnum's  Museum 
drama  of  that  name,  the  actor  Goodall,  whose  personation  of 
George  Middleton,  the  drunkard,  was  a  splendid  piece  of  art, 
and  itself  a  sermon,  died  of  mania  a  potu.  Burton,  though  not 
a  drunkard,  was  a  hard  drinker,  and  shortened  his  days  by  his 
drinking-hiibits.  Brougham — genial  John  Brougham  —  lived 
for  years  a  comparative  wreck,  previous  to  his  final  departure. 
He  had  never  even  been  what  is  called  "a  hard  drinker  ;  "  but 
he  had  undermined  his  constitution  by  his  steady,  "  moderate 
drinking,"  wliich,  just  as  ''constant  dripping  will  wear  a  stone," 
will,  sooner  or  later,  undermine  the  most  vigorous  constitution. 
Lucille  Western,  the  greatest  actress  America  has  yet  produced, 
with  the  sole  exception  of  Charlotte  Cushman,  ruined  her 
health  by  resorting  to  the  use  of  stimulants  to  sustain  her 
strength,  and  died  in  her  prime.  And  the  long  list  of  gifted 
men  and  women  on  the  stage  who  have  injured  themselves,  or 
absolutely  killed  themselves,  by  drink,  could  be  indefinitely 
followed. 

All  the  people  I  have  mentioned  were  gifted ;  and  most  of 
them  were  good,  —  good  at  heart,  —  and  much  better  in  their 
lives,  perhaps,  than  the  average  men  and  women  of  the  world : 
but,  unfortunately  for  themselves,  though  not  all  drunkards  or 
even  hard  drinkers,  they  had  contracted  the  habit  of  resorting 
to  intoxicating  stimulants ;  and  they  paid  the  penalty  of  that 
foUy. 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  judge  them ;  but,  certainly,  we  must 
pity  them;  a.id  we  ought  all  of  us  to  take  warning  from 
them. 

And  yet  there  are  hundreds  of  actors  to-day,  and  scores  of 


A  FREE  ''LIVER"   AND  EARLY  DIE-ER.  879 

actresses,  who  are  not  taking  warning,  but  are  imitating  the 
folly  of  their  dead  and  gone  companions  in  art  —  and  alcohol. 

It  is  not  saying  too  mnch  to  say,  that  the  finest  leading  man 
the  present  decade  has  produced,  Charles  Thorne,  jun.,  would 
have  been  alive  to-day  had  he  been  a  total-abstinence  man. 
But,  as  he  was  a  "  free  liver,"  he  was  an  early  die-er. 

And  there  are  hosts  of  "stars"  and  "leading-men,"  and 
actors  of  all  grades,  who  are  hard  drinkers,  and  who  are  doing 
themselves,  and  their  families  if  they  have  any,  and  the  general 
public,  gross  injustice  by  yielding  more  or  less,  generally  more, 
to  thei"  special  temptation  of  intemperance. 

And  social  drinking  is  far  too  much  of  a  custom  among  the 
ladies  of  the  profession.  Thus  two  of  the  members  of  one 
stock-company  in  New-York  City,  and  three  of  another,  are 
steady  consumers  of  beer  and  wine  in  any  thing  but  moderate 
quantities;  and  their  "little  weakness"  only  serves  to  excite 
the  good-natured  mirth,  the  badinage,  of  their  associates,  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  worst  sign  about  the  whole  matter. 

The  fondness  of  the  members  of  the  corps-de-ballet  for  beer 
has  become  proverbial,  equalled  only  by  the  predilection  of 
circus-people  for  whiskey. 

It  is  a  thousand  pities  it  is  so ;  but  we  leave  it  to  theatrical 
people  and  circus-people  themselves,  if  we  do  not  state  the 
simple  truth. 

I  have  no  ill  will  towards  theatrical  and  show  folk :  on  the 
contrary,  I  have  a  kindly  feeling ;  for  they  have  entertained  me 
occasionally,  and  treated  me  cordially  always,  when  I  met 
them ;  but  it  is  for  this  very  kindly  feeling's  sake  that  I  would, 
in  the  name  of  their  best  interests,  protest  against  their  worst 
enemy.  Nor  is  there  the  slightest  real  necessity  for  this  sad 
state  of  things.  There  is  no  more  need  for  an  actor  or  actress 
to  drink,  than  there  is  for  a  lawyer,  or  a  doctor,  or  a  clergyman 
for  that  matter. 


880  THE  TEMPERATE  SON  OF  AN  INTEMPERATE  FATHER. 

While  many  of  the  great  theatrical  stars  have  been  drunk- 
ards, many,  fully  equal  to  them  in  all  artistic  respects,  have 
been  positively  or  comparatively  sober  men  and  women. 

Charlotte  Cushman  was  a  model  alike  of  energy,  talent,  and 
temperance.  Macready  was  a  temperate  man.  Forrest  was 
always  careful  in  his  habits  as  regards  the  use  of  intoxicating 
stimulants.  John  Gilbert,  honored  John  Gilbert,  the  model 
"old  man  "  of  New  York,  is  a  strictly  temperate  man.  Murdock, 
the  classic  Murdock,  has  been  all  his  life  a  pattern  in  this,  as  in 
all  other  respects.  Edwin  Booth,  to-day  the  foremost  Ameri- 
can actor  of  the  world,  affords,  in  his  own  career,  a  memorable 
example  of  the  fact,  that  personal  intemperance  is  not  an  essen- 
tial of  theatrical  greatness.  And  the  history  of  this  illustrious 
artist  also  proves  that  drinking-habits  can  be  overcome  by  will- 
power, and  that  even  the  terrific  curse  of  inherited  intemper- 
ance, a  hereditary  tendency  to  liquor  derived  from  one's  own 
parents,  can  be  neutralized  and  conquered  by  earnest  effort. 

Edwin  Booth  was  the  son  of  a  hard-drinking  father,  who, 
training  his  child  in  his  own  profession,  seemed  also  to,  unfor- 
tunately, initiate  him  into  his  own  irregular  habits.  Cases  are 
still  remembered  in  which  it  is  said  father  and  son  have  been 
seen  under  the  influence  of  liquor  together.  Statements  are 
made,  that,  at  one  time  of  his  eventful  life,  Edwin  Booth  was 
far  advanced  on  the  road  that  leads  to  a  drunkard's  grave.  It 
is  also  said  his  trip  to  Australia  with  Laura  Keene  was  clouded 
by  excesses ;  and  the  old  adage,  "  Like  father,  like  son,"  seemed 
to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  be  realized  once  more. 

But  Edwin  Booth  had  a  host  of  warm  wishers,  and  among 
them  some  true  friends,  who  sincerely  regretted  the  rumors 
concerning  his  drinking-habits,  and  strove  to  correct  them.  It 
was  his  good  fortune  also  to  marry  a  woman  who  did  all  in 
a  t^'ue  wife's  power  to  counteract  the  curse  that  was  threaten- 
ing to  destroy  the  man  she  worshipped.     Above  all,  Edwin 


EDWIN  AND   WILKES   BOOTH.  '  881 

Booth  liimself  was,  with  all  his  uncommon  genius,  a  man  of 
common  sense;  and  he  saw  clearly  that  to  drink  was  simply 
an  advance  step  on  the  road  to  ruin,  and  he  paused  ere  it  was 
too  late. 

He  is  to-day  a  temperate  man. 

His  career  is  very  instructive,  —  full  of  warning  alike  and 
encouragement^ 

T3ut  thanks  to  his  friends,  to  his  own  force  of  character,  to 
the  prayers  of  a  true  wife,  and  to  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  he 
crossed  the  Rubicon,  and  conquered  all  obstacles,  and  is  to-day 
a  temperate  as  well  as  a  famous  man. 

Compare  his  career  with  that  of  his  ill-starred  brother,  Wilkes 
Booth.  Wilkes  possessed  more  native  ability  than  any  of  his 
brothers ;  he  was  more  like  his  illustrious  father  in  gifts  than 
any  other  of  his  sons;  but,  alas!  he  also  was  exactly  like  h'j 
illustrious  sire  in  eccentricity  and  intemperance. 

And  it  was  his  intemperance  which,  among  other  things,  led 
him  to  the  crime  which  has  forever  cast  a  shadow  on  the  name 
of  Booth,  the  actor-assassin. 

It  IS  not  asserting  too  much  to  say,  that,  had  John  Wilkes 
Booth  not  been  a  drinking-man,  the  assassination  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  would  not  now  be  a  fact  of  history.  Wilkes  had  been 
drinking  hard  for  some  weeks  previous  to  the  terrible  affair ; 
and  all  his  associates  in  the  foul  enterprise,  if  the  terra  "  enter- 
prise "'  can  be  applied  to  such  a  cowardly  folly,  were  drinking 
men  and  women. 

This  is  a  point  which  has  not  been  yet  dwelt  upon  with  the 
force  that  it  deserves.  All  the  assassins,  and  Mrs.  Surratt  her- 
self, were  wine-bibbers,  hard  drinkers ;  and  alcohol  influenced 
them  as  well  as  treason. 

Had  the  conspirators  been  all  sober,  they  would  probably 
not  have  been  conspirators.  Had  they  been  practised  in  the 
restraints  of  sobriety,  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  frenzy  of 


882  "  AN  ACTRESS'S   GOOD   WORK. 

assassination  would  never  have  seized  them.  Men  wlio  control 
their  appetites  generally  control  their  passions ;  and  the  assassi- 
nation of  Abraham  Lincoln  may  be,  in  part  at  least,  laid  to  the 
charge  of  alcohol.  It  is  one  of  the  encouraging  signs  of  the 
times,  that  of  late  years  some  well-known  theatrical  people 
have  become  directly  or  indirectly  the  advocates  of  temper- 
ance. Miss  Minnie  Cummings  (the  real  founder  of  the 
Madison-square  Theatre),  though  not  identified  directly  with 
temperance  work,  not  long  ago  delivered  one  of  the  best  of 
temperance  orations,  because  brief  and  to  the  point,  in  the  city 
of  New  York.  And  the  same  lady,  a  short  time  previous  to 
her  impromptu  speech,  had  come  across,  accidentally,  a  poor 
drunkard,  who,  but  for  her  interference,  would  have  been 
taken  to  the  station-house,  but  who,  restored  to  his  right 
mind  and  a  sober  life  by  her  kindly  influences,  is  now  doing 
well  at  this  moment,  in  the  metropolis,  as  a  writer  in  a  metro- 
politan journal. 

Other  actresses,  notably  a  Mrs.  Susie  Denver,  have  joined 
the  ranks  of  the  reformers,  and  are  proving,  alike  by  precept 
and  example,  that  there  is  no  essential  connection  between  the 
stage  and  the  bottle,  the  drama  and  the  dram. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MY  FIRST  r-K(TUBE.  —  "  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS."  —  A  BITTER  DISAPPOINT- 
MENT. —  WHAT  1  SAW  AND  WHAT  I  DID  NOT  SEE  ON  TKEMONT  STREET.  — 
TWO  INTELLIOENT  AND  WELL-DRESSED  STRANGERS,  AND  WHAT  THEY 
WANTED  WITH  ME. — A  LECTURE  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES. — A  TEMPER- 
ANCE LECTURER  FALLEN. 

Well,  the  (to  me)  ever  memorable  Monday,  May  19, 1873, 
arrived  in  due  time ;  and  I  was  in  a  constant  state  of  exaltation 
and  excitement.  A  good  deal  of  preparation  had  really  been 
made  for  my  lecture  that  night.  Printer's  ink  was  thrown 
around  everywhere ;  and  flowing  handbills  announced  that 
"  The  reformed  drunkard,  Thomas  N.  Doutney,  would  lecture 
at  Tremont  Temple.  Admission  twenty-five  cents,  reserved 
seats  fifty  cents." 

Some  of  my  friends  had  even  gone  to  the  trouble  and 
expense  (more  trouble  than  expense,  by  the  by)  to  secure  the 
services,  in  my  behalf,  of  a  band,  —  a  German  street-band,  —  all 
uniformed  for  the  occasion,  and  presenting  a  strong  and  noisy 
advertisement  of  my  forthcoming  lecture.  My  friends  were 
determined  that  I  should  "  make  a  noise  in  the  world,"  if  only 
by  proxy.  Every  thing  seemed  propitious.  Special  compli- 
mentary tickets  had  been  issued  "  for  the  press,"  and  to  each  of 
these  tickets  my  likeness  was  attached.  In  short,  in  this  my 
first  lecture,  as  in  every  thing  else  I  have  subsequently  under- 
taken, I  did  whatever  my  hand  found  to  do ;  and  I  did  it  with 
all  my  might. 

And  meanwhile  I  cherished  high  hopes  of  making  a  brilliant 


884  A  DAY  AND  A   NIGHT. 

success.  I  had  ever  in  my  mind's  eye  tlie  pleasing  vision  of  a 
crowded  house,  an  audience  of  well-dressed  and  intelligent  men 
and  women  listening  to  my  words ;  and  this  prospect  of  a 
grand  house,  with  a  good  return  at  the  box-office,  cheered  me 
infinitely.  I  felt  more  like  a  boy  than  I  had  felt  for  years,  —  a 
boy  in  animal  spirits  and  vivacity,  —  though  more  of  a  man  than 
ever  also,  —  a  full-grown  man  in  ardor  and  ambition.  Nor  was 
I  wholly  selfish  in  my  feelings  and  aspirations.  For  I  hoped 
and  believed,  that  among  my  audience  that  evening  would 
be  found  some  poor  victims  of  rum,  like  myself  (or,  rather, 
my  former  self),  who,  I  trusted  and  resolved,  should  r('<!eive 
from  my  words  alike  warning  and  encouragement.  I  whs  in 
high  spirits;  and  acquaintances  gathered  round  me,  and  in- 
ci'eased  my  confidence  and  excitement.  Hosts  of  professed 
temperance  people,  who  called  themselves  my  friends,  all  prom- 
ised "  to  be  there  "  at  the  Tremont  Temple  that  Monday  night. 
And  as  they  clasped  my  hand,  and  bade  me  God-speed  in  my 
good  work,  I  felt  that  a  new  life  and  light  were  beginning  to 
dawn  upon  me  through  this  my  first  lecture.  I  could  reason- 
ably hope  to  pay  my  debts,  and  begin  existence  anew  on  a 
better,  sounder  basis  than  ever  before. 

Ah !  I  shall  never  forget  that  Monday.  It  was  a  day  of 
anticipation.  And,  alas  I  I  shall  never  forget,  either,  that  Mon- 
day night.  It  was  a  night  of  awakening,  —  and  such  an  awak- 
ening!— an  awakening  to  reality. 

As  the  shades  of  night  gathered  around  the  great  city,  I 
began  to  feel  slightly  nervous.  The  re-action  to  my  state  of 
excitement  had  commenced  already.  I  bolted  my  supper 
down,  and  then  rushed  to  the  Tremont  Temple,  towards  which 
I  expected  to  see  (with  my  bodily  eyes)  hurrying  a  crowd  of 
those  "  well-dressed  and  intelligent  men  and  women  "  whom  I 
had  seen  (in  my  mind's  eye)  during  the  whole  day.  But 
I  was  disappointed.     As  I  approached  the  Tremont  Temple,  I 


AN  AWAKENING   TO  ItEALITT.  885 

could  see  no  crowd  at  all :  If  any  thing,  the  number  of  people 
now  in  that  vicinity  seemed  to  be  less  than  usual. 

With  a  strange,  depressing  sensation  of  wondering  uneasi- 
ness, I  took  my  position  on  Treniont  Street,  opposite  the  Tem- 
ple, and  waited  for  that  crowd  that  was  to  come.  I  waited, 
but  the  crowd  came  not.  I  saw  my  own  name  conspicuously 
displayed  on  the  outside  of  the  building,  but  I  saw  very  little 
else.  There  was  very  little  else  to  see.  Certainly,  I  saw  no 
eager  multitude  pressing  into  the  hall.  I  only  beheld  now 
and  then  a  man  or  small  boy,  —  generally  a  small  boy,  —  stop- 
ping, and  looking  carelessly  at  my  "announcements,"  and  then 
passing  on.  In  ten  minutes  or  more  that  I  stood  there  on  the 
street,  not  over  twenty  people  entered  the  hall  itself;  and 
yet  it  was  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  the  advertised 
time  for  my  lecture  to  commence.  Perhaps,  in  all  my  life,  I 
was  never  more  wretched  and  crest-fallen  than  as  I  stood  there 
on  Tremont  Street,  Boston.  I  felt  strongly  humiliated,  sunken 
in  my  own  self-esteem.  I  felt  outraged,  humiliated,  disgraced. 
I  began  to  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  pangs  of  dis- 
appointed ambition. 

But  I  recovered  mj'self,  "braced  myself  up,"'  metaphorically 
speaking,  and  crossed  the  street  to  the  Temple,  not  as  a  chief 
advancing  to  victory,  not  as  a  genius  advancing  to  fame,  not  as 
a  toiler  going  to  meet  hit,  reward,  but  rather  as  a  victim  to  mar- 
tyrdom, or  a  child  to  punishment,  or  as  any  thing  or  anybody 
you  choose,  except  as  an  about-to-be  successful  lecturer. 

Ah  I  there  was  no  crowd  at  the  door.  The  box-office  was 
nearly  deserted,  —  nearly,  but  not  quite.  Tliere  were  two  men 
—  two  rather  "well-dressed  and  intelligent  men"  —  in  the 
entrance,  but  thej^  were  not  buying  tickets  of  admission  :  they 
were  not  at  all  anxious  to  hear  me,  they  were  only  anxious  to 
see  me. 

One  of  these  two  men  was  so  very  anxious  to  see  me,  that 


886  "  AFFECTIONATE  ANXIETT,** 

he  barred  my  passage-way  to  the  staircase,  and,  placing  his 
lumd  upon  my  arm,  stopped  me,  and  asked  nic,  almost  in  a 
tone  of  affectionate  inquiry,  *'If  my  name  was  Tlioums  N. 
Doutney?" 

I  wondered  who  on  earth  the  man  was,  and  what  he  wanted ; 
but  I  told  him  that  was  my  name.  And  then  instantly  the 
cause  of  his  almost  affectionate  anxiety  was  explained ;  for  ho 
produced  out  of  his  ample  pocket  a  legal  document,  —  a  war- 
rant for  my  arrest  for  debt.  My  well-dressed  and  intelligoiit 
men  were  two  sheriff's  oificers.  And  I,  the  asj)iring  lecturer, 
at  the  very  commencement  of  my  lecture-tour,  before  I  hud 
begun  my  "  lecture  season,"  in  fact,  was  "  in  quod."  As  the 
comic-puzzle  people  phrase  it,  "I  was  ended  ere  I  had  begun." 
A  good  many  lecture  enterprises  terminate  with  an  arrest  for 
debt :  mine  had  commenced  with  it. 

I  can  make  light  of  the  situation  now ;  but,  ah  !  it  was  dark, 
very  dark,  with  me  just  then.  There  was  not  a  more  unhappj', 
a  more  deeply  humiliated  man  in  all  wide  Boston  then  than 
the  "  Thomas  N.  Doutney,"  as  "  per  advertisements." 

One  can  hardly  imagine  —  I  can  hardly  describe  -my  feel- 
ings or  my  position  at  this  moment.  Here  I  was,  just  out  of 
the  dark  valley  of  intemperance,  about  to  tell  my  exjierience, 
about  to  make  strenuous  efforts  at  reforming  myself  and 
others;  and  now  I  was  seized  by  the  law  for  a  debt,  —  a 
paltry  debt, — one  of  the  very  debts  I  had  hoped  to  wipe 
out  by  my  lecture.  It  seemed  as  though  the  fates,  in  the 
persons  of  sheriff's  officers,  had  conspired  against  me.  I  was 
crushed,  but  not  for  long.  I  am,  fortunately,  one  of  the  men 
who  do  not  stay  long  "crushed."  I  resemble  Grant  in  one 
little  particular,  and  in  my  humbler  way,  —  I  don't  know 
when  I  am  beaten.  I  raised  my  head,  and  suddenly  resolved 
to  make  a  test-case  now  and  here  against  fate  and  the 
sheriff.     I  resolved  to  move  heaven  and  earth  rather  than  to 


lYii li". t* iw'if  tfj'yr'H'E^ 


"  For  he  produced  out  of  Ids  ample  iHxskets  a  I«gal  document,  —a  warrant 
for  my  arrest  for  debt "  [p.  3«(JJ. 


A   WOULD-BE  LECTUREH  AND  DEPUTY  SIlKBIFFft.      887 

bo  moved  from  my  Icoturo.  I  Imd  hcfii  through  mdiiy  trying 
Bceiies  before,  under  difforont  oiroumHtances,  as  the  preceding 
pngcH  make  plain.  And  now,  on  my  flr«t  Htep  toward  reforma- 
tion, to  be  headed  off  was  not  only  hard,  it  HJiould  be  imposHil)le. 

I  Haid  to  the  offioers,  »*  Gentlemen,  I  admit  the  debt.  It  is 
an  honest  one.  I  owe  it ;  and  this  very  1  jctnro  I  am  announced 
this  hour  to  give  is  intended,  among  other  things,  to  raise 
the  money  to  pay  it  with.  Hoar  with  me:  wait,  and  defer  exe- 
cuting your  warrant  till  I  have  delivered  my  lecture.  I  do 
not  wish  to  disappoint  my  audience." 

I  said  these  last  words  with  an  attempt  at  a  grand  air,  as 
if  I  had  been  a  professional  lecturer  of  long  standing,  and  had 
been  used  to  entrancing  audiences  all  my  life.  Hut  the  sheriff's 
officers  winked  at  each  other,  —  actually  winked, — as  if  to  im- 
ply that  they  didn't  think  my  audience  would  be  so  veiy  much 
"disappointed"  at  my  not  giving  my  lecture  after  all.  The 
impudence  of  sheriff's  officers  is  something  colossal. 

As  for  the  other  arguments  and  points  in  my  little  speech, 
they  had  no  eff'eet  upon  the  officers  at  all.  They  were  proof 
by  this  time  against  all  arguments  and  points  save  one, — 
money,  or  good  security  therefor.  They  were  eminently 
"practical"  men;  hadn't  an  ounce  of  poetry,  romance,  or  faith 
in  their  whole  composition ;  would  not  have  trusted  the  apostle 
Paul  if  they  held  a  warrant  against  him,  let  alone  a  temperance 
lecturer. 

"  You  must  pay  the  full  amount  specified  in  my  warrant," 
said  officer  No.  1 ;  "or  go  with  us,"  said  officer  No.  2. 

I  pleaded  with  the  officers.  "  Even  sheriff's  officers,"  I  said 
to  myself,  in  my  ignorance,  "  must  be  human.  For  Heaven's 
sake,"  I  cried,  "  give  me  a  chance.  This  is  my  first  lecture." 
I  thought  it  best,  at  this  stage  of  affairs,  to  dismiss  all  airs  and 
pretence,  and  stick  to  the  naked  truth.  "  This  is  my  very  fii-st 
appearance  as  a  public  speaker.     My  whole  future  may  depend 


38S  "SOME"   AND   "NONE." 

upon  it.  If  I  fail,  the  papers  will  call  it  a  fizzle ;  and  I  will  be 
laughed  at."  That  didn't  move  them  a  bit.  "  Besides,  in  this 
case,  you  will  never  be  able  to  get  your  money."  This  seemed 
to  impress  them  a  good  deal.  I  saw  my  advantage,  and  pur- 
sued it.  I  dilated  upon  the  great  difference  between  having 
some  money  in  their  hands,  which  they  would  be  sure  to  have 
if  I  was  allowed  to  deliver  my  lecture,  and  having  no  money 
at  all  in  their  hands,  Y.liich  would  be  sure  to  be  their  case  in 
case  my  lecture  was  not  delivered,  and  the  money  already  paid 
for  tickets  was  refunded. 

The  sheriffs  officers  stopped  winking,  and  looked  at  each 
other  meaningly.  Then  they  conversed  a  moment  apart  in  a 
low  tone ;  and  finally,  approaching  me,  it  was  arranged  that  I 
should  instruct,  in  their  presence,  the  ticket-agent  or  treasurer 
in  the  Temple  to  pay  over  to  them  all  money  received  for 
tickets,  over  and  above  the  money  due  as  rent  of  the  hall,  and 
that  I  should  then  proceed,  and  deliver  my  lecture,  with  the 
officers  sitting  on  the  first  row  of  seats  from  the  platform. 
After  the  lecture,  if  the  receipts  from  the  box-office  were  not 
found  sufficient  to  cancel  tlie  debt,  I  was  to  furnish  bail  before  a 
bail-commissioner,  whom  they  would  have  ready  to  act  in  my  case. 

I  agreed  to  the  terms.  What  else  could  I  do  but  agree  ? 
And  while  one  of  the  two  officers  started  off  on  some  other 
Ijusiness,  —  to  make  some  other  poor  wretch  more  wretched, — 
I  walked  up  to  the  phitform,  followed  by  the  other  officer,  who 
was  mistaken  by  the  small  audience  present,  I  suppose,  for 
some  prominent  temperance  man,  or,  peihaps,  another  reformed 
drunkard ;  as  it  must  be  confessed  his  red  nose  gave  him  a  much 
closer  resemblance  to  the  latter  character  than. to  the  former. 

I  felt  mean  enough.  Still,  I  had  scored  my  first  point.  I 
was  to  deliver  my  lecture.  About  two  hundred  were  present 
where  I  had  expected  two  thousand.  Still,  somebody  was 
there,  and  I  was  there. 


I  SPEAK.  389 

When  the  tine  came,  I  advanced  on  tlie  stage  ;  and  a  theo- 
logical student  advanced  with  me.  He  offered  up  a  prayer. 
While  he  was  praying,  I  stood  wondering  where  were  all  the 
friends  who  were  so  enthusiastic  in  my  behalf  that  very  morn- 
ing. I  could  not  see  them  now ;  though  I  had  ample  time, 
during  the  elaborate  prayer,  to  scan  every  face  in"  the  one- 
tentli  filled  auditorium. 

At  last  the  prayer  ended ;  and  I  was  introduced  to  the  audi- 
ence, and  received  with  a  faint  ripple  of  welcome.  Where  were 
the  thunders  of  applause  which  I  had  been  hearing  all  day  in 
my  dreams?  The  contrast  between  my  great  expectations  and 
their  paltry  realizations  abashed  me.  And  then  I  felt  an  attack 
coming  on  of  what  I  knew  to  be  "  stage-fright."  I  had  heard 
it  spoken  of  by  others,  but  had  always  laughed  at  it  myself. 

"  He  jests  at  scars  who  never  felt  a  wound." 

But  now  it  seized  me,  and  for  a  moment  my  tongue  refused  its 
office.  The  sweat  stood  upon  my  brow.  But  I  must  speak, 
and  there  is  a  strange  might  about  a  "must."  I  did  speak, 
and,  after  the  first  moment,  spoke  as  freely  and  fluently  as  I 
have  ever  spoken  since.  I  threw  every  thing  else  from  my 
mind,  —  the  officers,  the  debt,  the  past,  the  present,  or  the 
future,  —  and  proceeded  with  my  lecture.  Really,  although  I 
state  it  myself  of  myself,  it  was  not  a  bad  lecture  for  a  brand- 
new  lecturer,  and  was  well  received.  I  at  least  entertained, 
and  I  trust  instructed,  my  audience.  I  had  something  to  say, 
and  I  said  it.  I  knew  what  I  was  talking  about,  and  that  is 
more  than  can  be  said  of  every  lecturer.  While  delivering 
my  address,  the  excitement  acted  as  a  delightful  stimulus 
upon  me ;  but,  when  the  lecture  ceased,  my  troubles  again 
began.  The  sheriff's  officer,  who  had  not  heard  tlie  lecture, 
now  joined  the  more  (or  less)  lucky  officer  who  had  heard  it ; 
and  the  two  (the  surplus  funds  in  the  box-office  not  being  suffi- 


390  "POETIC  JUSTICE  IN  PROVIDENCE." 

cieiit)  escorted  me  to  a  bail-coiumissioner.  Here  a  kind  friend, 
to  whom  I  shall  refer  later,  became  my  bondsman  ;  and  I  was 
temporarily  discharged. 

I  was  now  free,  —  free  to  go  where  I  wanted ;  and,  as  I  was 
tired  and  worn  out  with  the  excitements  of  the  day  and  the 
disappointments  of  the  night,  I  went  to  my  lodgings,  and  fell 
asleep,  but  only  for  a  brief  while.  I  awoke  a  little  after  mid- 
night, a  prey  to  that  foe  of  sleep,  —  reflection ;  and  with  ray 
thoughts  were  mingled  bitter  humiliation,  and  still  more  bitter 
recrimination.  I  mentally  denounced  the  friends  who  had 
promised  me  their  countenance  and  aid  that  night,  and  had 
afforded  me  neitlier.  And  then  I  took  myself  to  task  for  hav- 
ing made  the  mistake  of  dunging  too  high  an  admission-fee, — 
I,  an  utterly  unknown  temperance  lecturer.  "  I  ought  to  have 
known  better,"  I  said  to  myself  convincingly,  now  that  it  was 
too  late  for  the  conviction  to  do  me  any  good.  Is  it  a  wonder, 
then,  that,  with  all  this  passing  through  my  mind,  I  did  not 
sleep  ?  All  the  rest  of  that  livelong  night  (and  it  seemed  a 
livelong  night  truly)  I  tossed  about  my  bed,  seeking  rest,  but 
not  finding  it.  A  hundred  times  that  night  I  asked  myself  the 
question,  "Is  this  the  reward  of  my  struggling  to  be  better?" 
A  hundred  times  that  weary  night  I  took  Pro""idence  to  task ; 
forgettuig,  that  as  I  had  repeatedly,  time  and  time  again,  delib- 
erately cast  away  the  chances  Heaven  had  already  given  me, 
it  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  the  very  first  chance  that  I 
chose  to  accept  should  turn  out  just  as  I  desired.  There  is 
a  poetic  justice  in  Providence,  although  this  justice  seldom 
seems  poetic  to  the  party  most  concerned. 

I  arose  the  first  day  after  my  first  lecture  feeling  indescriba- 
bly depressed.  The  glow  of  hope,  the  excitement  of  action, 
had  faded.  I  had  now  only  a  disagreeable  memory,  and  a 
dreadful  headache,  and  a  very  little  money. 

And,  alas  I  I  had  no  trust,  just  then,  in  a  higher  power  than 


/  FALL.  391 

my  poor,  weak  self.  I  Imd  leaned  upon  my  own  strength, 
and  it  had  proved  indeed  a  broken  reed.  I  had  nowhere  to  go 
for  consolation.  I  believed  in  a  God,  of  course ;  but  my  belief 
was  only  theoretical,  not  vital.  I  had  not  a  living  faith.  And 
so  —  and  so  — 

I  fell,  — Ml  again,  —fell  a  victim  to  the  very  enemy  I  had 
denounced,  and  warned  others  against.  Weary,  desperate,  and 
disgusted  with  myself,  humanity,  and  fate,  I  sought  a  tempo- 
rary oblivion  in  the  arms  of  my  old  arch-enemy.  King  Alcohol. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  after  the  delivery  of  my  first  tem- 
perance lecture,  I  was  seen  reeling  through  the  streets  of  Bos- 
ton, drunk.  Yes,  the  ncw-fledg  ;d  champion  of  temperance  had 
fallen ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  rum-sellers  grew  merry,  and  the 
hosts  of  hell  exulted.    Another  temperance  lecturer  fallen  / 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  THE  DARKRST  HOUR  IS  JUST  BEFOItB  THE  DAWN."  —  MY  LOWEST  POINT. 
—  MANIA  A  POTU  IN  ITS  MOST  FEABFUL  FOltM. — MY  EXPEKIENCE  AS  A 
CAVALBY  BECBUIT.  —  ABMY  LIFE.  —  MY  FIBST  PBAYEB.  —  MY  BEFOK- 
MATION. 

The  last  chapter  left  me  fallen  from  grace,  after  having 
lectured  at  Tremont  Temple  the  evening  previous.  My  future 
life  seemed  now  darker  than  ever.  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  was  lost  forevermore.  I  gave  myself  up  to  abject  despair. 
What  could  the  future  have  in  store  for  me  but  ruin  ?  Had 
I  not  fallen  again  —  and  again  —  and  yet  again  ?  Had  not 
helping  hands  been  outstretched  to  bring  me  back  to  virtue, 
and  outstretched,  alas !  in  vain  ?  Had  not  love  and  affection 
kept  guard  over  me,  and  had  I  not  proved  utterly  unworthy  ? 
Had  I  not  promised  to  reform,  and  broken  my  promise  ?  Ay, 
had  I  not  struggled  to  reform,  and  ignominiously  failed?  And 
now,  after  a  public  effort  in  one  of  the  largest  halls  in  Boston, 
was  I  not  reeling  in  the  streets  a  common  drunkard?  Yes; 
and  I  only  wonder  that  all  that  was  good  and  holy  did  not  shun 
me  altogether  as  totally  depraved  and  vile.  I  hated  myself. 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  own  companionship,  and  one  day  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  banish  mysolf.  I  resolved  upon  a  change 
of  scene.  I  determined  to  go  where  neither  friend  nor  foe 
would  ever  see  me.  I  forgot,  that,  go  where  a  man  will,  he 
never  can  escape  from  himself.  In  a  fit  of  despair  and  despera- 
tion I  made  up  my  mind  to  enlist  in  the  United-States  army, 
and  on  the  27th  of  June  I  carried  out  my  resolution. 

302 


I  JOIN  THE  AHMY.  898 

I  presented  myself  to  the  recruiting-officer,  and  was  favora- 
bly received.  Uncle  Sum  is  not  too  particular,  except  as  to 
physical  qualifications;  and,  spite  of  all  my  excesses,  I  was 
sound  in  body  yet. 

So  I  passed  the  usual  medical  examination  satisfactorily, 
and  was  duly  sworn  in,  and  donned  the  uniform  of  a  cavalry 
recruit.    Acting  on  the  motto  that  — 

"  It  is  well  to  be  merry  and  wise, 
It  is  well  to  be  honest  and  (rue, 
It  is  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love 
Before  you  are  on  with  tlie  new,"— 

I  got  rid  of  my  old  clothes  before  I  put  on  my  new  suit.  I  sold 
my  civilian's  suit  to  an  old  Jew.  There  is  always  an  old  Jew 
ready  to  buy  old  clothes.  It  is  an  admirable  illustration  of 
supply  and  demand.  It  is  a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Provi- 
dence. The  particular  "  old  Jew  "in  this  case  was  a  Semitic 
septuagenarian,  who  "  hung  around  "  the  "  raw  recruits  "  for  the 
express  purpose  of  buying  their  old  clothes.  He  paid  a  dollar 
and  a  half  for  mine.  He  tried  to  get  them  for  a  dollar  first: 
then,  finding  me  firm  as  to  the  fifty  cents,  he  submitted,  and 
"  forked  over."  Before  night  every  cent  of  those  one  hundred 
and  fifty  cents  was  expended  in  rum.  It  would  have  probably 
been  the  same  if  it  had  been  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
That  same  evening,  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  I  was  sent,  with 
two  fellow-Irish  raw  recruits,  to  the  cavalry  recruiting  head- 
quarters, 174  Hudson  Street.  As  soon  as  I  arrived  there,  on  a 
Sunday  morning,  my  first  act  was,  to  beg  the  sergeant  in  charge 
to  let  me  out  so  that  I  might  get  a  drink ;  but  I  need  not  say 
that  this  vile  request  was  not  complied  with.  And  it  was  well 
for  me  that  the  sergeant  did  his  duty  in  this  respect ;  for,  had  I 
then  taken  a  drop  more,  no  earthly  power  could  have  answered 
for  the  consequences.    As  it  was,  ere  that  Sunday  terminated,  I 


894  A  HORROR  OF  HORRORS. 

fell  into  one  of  the  most  terrible  cases  of  delirium  tremens  that 
ever  a  poor  mortal  passed  through  aud  survived.  My  state  of 
mind  —  my  despuir — my  desperation  —  my  disgust — my  loath- 
ing of  tlie  world  and  of  Thomas  N.  Doutney,  —  along  with  the 
dissipations  I  had  passed  through,  combined  to  bring  me  to  this 
fearful  ntate.  Mania  a  potu  was  once  more  upon  me.  It  was  a 
fearful  attack.  I  suftered  indescribably,  —  more,  much  more 
than  in  my  first  attack ;  although  I  was  infinitely  less  demonstra- 
tive now  than  previously.  Mine  was  the  outwardly  silent  delir- 
ium,—  the  very  worst  of  all  possible  varieties. 
Shakspeare  says, — 

"  The  grief  that  will  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break." 

And  so  with  delirium  tremens.  The  delirium  that  raves  and 
rushes  and  curses  is  terrible :  but  tlie  delirium  that  does  not 
rave,  nor  give  any  outv/ard  token  of  its  inward  agony,  is  far 
more  awful  —  to  the  sufferer ;  for,  in  this  latter  species,  even  the 
poor  relief  of  muscular  activity  and  excitement  is  denied ;  and 
the  poor  victim  of  drink  is  compelled,  as  it  were,  to  remain 
only  a  spectator  of  his  own  indescribable  agonies. 

The  officers  in  charge  of  me  at  this  time  did  not  know  that 
any  thing  was  the  matter  with  me,  and  probably  would  not 
have  cared  if  they  had.  They  took  me  to  the  doctor  in  charge, 
to  stand  my  second  and  final  examination ;  and  while  waiting, 
in  line  with  the  rest,  to  bo  tested  and  questioned  by  the  phy- 
sician, I  suffered  the  torments  of  the  damned. 

Methought,  as  I  stood  waiting  my  turn  with  the  rest,  that  I 
could  hear  demons  and  goblins  all  around  me,  shouting,  and 
making  hideous  noises,  and  rushing  upon  me  with  yells  of 
"  Shoot  him !  shoot  him  ! "  Then  other  goblins  and  demons 
would  howl,  "  Cut  him  to  pieces  !  "  "  Burn  him ! "  and  the  like. 
Others,  again,  would  exclaim,  "Hang  him!"  or  "Drown  him!" 


TBE  AWFUL  POWER   OF  ALCODOL.  895 

and  then  they  would  rush  towards  me  to  execute  their  threats, 
looking  unutterably  awful. 

I  heard  these  cries  as  clearly  as  ever  in  my  sober  moments 
I  heard  the  sound  of  my  own  voice  ;  I  saw  these  sights  as 
plainly  as  ever  I  saw  my  own  image  in  the  glass,  —  and  yet  I 
uttered  no  cry ;  I  made  no  movement  whatever ;  I  was 
apparently  quiet,  and  stood  straight  in  the  ranks. 

Oh,  what  a  horror  of  horrors  I  was  passing  through!  No 
wonder  I  occasionally  thought  of  suicide.  That  very  day,  as  I 
stood  there  in  the  ranks,  waiting  for  the  second  medical  exami- 
nation, I  would  gladly  have  cut  my  throat,  had  1  had  any  thing 
to  cut  it  with. 

But  the  day  rolled  on :  the  night  came,  and  my  night  was 
worse  than  even  my  day.  I  could  not  sleep.  I  never  closed 
my  eyes  from  evening  till  morning,  but  dreamed  the  woful, 
waking  dreams  of  wild  delirium. 

Methought  the  whole  United-States  army  stood  beside  my 
bed  in  battle  array,  ready  with  cannon,  musketry,  and  all  the 
implements  of  war,  to  sweep  me  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Then  horrid  monsters  of  every  description  appeared,  flying 
and  crawling ;  and  the  scene  was  fearful  beyond  description. 
No  mortal  could  pen-paint  the  scene.  The  Devil  could  be  its 
only  accurate  artist.  The  horrors  of  hell  would  themselves  be 
insignificant  in  comparison.  I  look  back  upon  this  time  now, 
and  only  wonder  that  I  could  have  looked  upon  all  this,  and 
live.    It  seems  a  miracle  I  did  not  die  of  fright  and  horror. 

For,  at  the  time  I  suffered  all  this,  it  was  all  to  me  a  reality, 
—  as  real  as  myself.  The  monsters  glaring  and  hissing  and 
writhing  and  fighting  and  rushing  .all  around  me  were  real 
monsters.  I  could  hear  them,  see  them,  feel  them,  as  they 
crawled  or  sprung  against  me.  I  heard,  saw,  felt  them,  as 
plainly  as  ever  I  heard,  saw,  or  felt  any  thing  or  anybody  in 
xny  sober  moments.    Truly,  the   awful  power  of  alcohoj  is 


896  UORE  TERniliLE   THAN   THE  SMALL-POZ. 

amazing  when  one  thinks  of  tlie  abominable  terrors  it  creates, 
as  well  as  the  fearful  evils  it  causes.  I  was  not  of  a  peculiuily 
susceptible  or  poetical  temperament ;  and  yet  Dickens,  Dante, 
Gustave  Dord,  liulwer,  Victor  IIu^jo,  could  not  have  evolved 
from  their  gifted  imaginations  such  stupendous  terrors  as  I  was 
surrounded  with  that  night.  Every  intonation  of  voice  and 
roar  was  audible  among  these  hideous  monsters  that  pressed 
around  me.  Every  species  of  distorted  shape  was  visible 
among  them,  and  the  element  of  time  was  itself  exaggerated 
ill  my  delirium:  every  hour  seemed  a  century;  that  night 
seemed  everlasting.  And  yet  I  did  not  die.  It  seemed  as  if  I 
was  undergoing  an  immortality  of  agony. 

But  I  shudder  to  narrate  more.  Even  now,  after  all  these 
years,  I  tremble  as  I  dilate  upon  the  horrors  of  that  unuttera- 
bly awful  attack  of  delirium  tremens.  Oh  !  would  to  God  that 
I  could  imbue,  by  my  words,  the  minds  of  men  with  such  a 
dread  of  the  tortures  of  mania  a  potu,  that  they  would  shun, 
as  they  would  the  possibilities  of  the  small-pox,  the  bare  possi- 
bility of  delirium  tremens ;  for,  really,  the  small -pox,  loathsome 
as  it  is,  does  not  begin  to  compare  in  awful  agony  with  mania  a 
potu. 

I  would  to-day  rather  have  any  disease,  or  all  the  diseases  to 
which  humanity  can  be  subject,  than  suffer  another  attack  of 
delirium  tremens.  I  have  not  exaggerated  the  terrors  of  this 
latter  complaint.  Believe  me,  dear  reader,  I  have  not  done 
BO ;  and,  for  one  very  sufficient  reason,  /  could  not  do  so  if  I 
would. 

And  I  assure  you,  dear,  dear  reader,  that  there  is  but  one 
infallible  way  of  avoiding  the  unutterable  affliction  of  delirium 
from  drink ;  and  that  is,  not  to  drink  at  all.  For,  if  you  swallow 
your  first  glass  of  intoxicating  liquor,  the  chances  are,  you  will 
soon  swallow  your  second,  then,  in  due  time,  your  hundred  and 
second,  and  so  on,  till  finally,  some  day  or  some  night,  the 


ARMY-LIFE.  897 

delirium  will  seize  you  as  it  seized  me;  and  then  God  have 
mercy  on  your  soul  and  body  ! 

Touch  not,  taste  not,  haiiillc  not,  the  accursed  thing. 

Many  men,  and  not  a  few  women,  alas !  have  met  with  death 
in  the  midst  of  delirium ;  but  I  was  mercifully  spared.  I  recov- 
ered from  this  attack,  and  when  sober  enough,  and  steady  in 
nerves  enough  to  write,  sent  letters  to  several  friends,  and 
prominent  people  I  had  met  (among  others,  Gen.,  now  Gov., 
lienjamin  F.  Butler,  liev.  J.  D.  Fulton,  who  was  formerly 
of  Boston,  Rev.  W.  F.  Mallalieu  of  South  Boston,  and  others), 
entreating  them  to  exert  their  induence  with  Gen.  Belknap, 
the  then  secretary  of  war,  to  procure  my  discharge  from  the 
army.  I  also  sent  in  a  formal  application  for  my  discharge  to 
the  war-department. 

I  had  sickened  of  armj'-life,  or  of  what  I  had  seen  of  it, — 
its  irksome  restraints,  its  mingled  confinement  and  exposure, 
and  its  low  associations  among  the  rank  and  file.  And  I  had 
clianged  my  mind  now  altogether  about  wishing  to  hide  myself 
from  the  world,  to  bury  myself  in  some  far-off  fort,  or  to  be- 
come a  mere  well-drilled  and  poorly  fed  and  worse-paid  military 
machine. 

No :  I  longed  to  be  a  free  man  once  more ;  and  erelong  I  re- 
gained my  freedom,  —  thanks  to  my  friends,  and  tlie  prominent 
people  who  still  kindly  remembered  me,  and  my  brothers,  who 
did  all  in  their  power  to  assist  me,  —  and  was  discharged  ;  my 
discharge  being  lianded  me  July  28,  1873,  dated  three  days 
previously,  a  special  order  having  been  created  for  my  dis- 
charge. 

And  here  let  me  pause  a  moment  to  glance  at  army-life  in 
a  general  way.  I,  of  course,  had  not  time,  in  my  brief  "  mili- 
tary career"  (to  use  a  high  sounding  expression),  to  see  much 
of  the  "  inside  workings  "  of  our  "  army  system,"  as  it  is  called  ; 
but  I  saw  enough  to  learn  that  intemperance  is  one  of  the  cry- 


.;(■■ 


898  THE  ENEMY  WHICn  STONEWALL  JACKSON  DREADED. 

ing  evils,  not  only  among  tlio  soldiers,  but  among  tlio  ofliccrs, 
of  the  United-States  army, 

*'  Privates  "  drink,  and  "  officers  "  drink  ;  and,  from  wlitit  I 
saw,  I  should  bo  led  to  infer  that  ofliccrs  drank  more  than  pri- 
vates, with  far  less  excuse.  The  poor  soldiers  have  few  pleas- 
ures in  life,  and  are  driven  to  drink  under  the  mistaken  idea 
that  it  furnishes  a  resource  against  the  misery  and  monotony 
of  their  lives.  But  the  officers  have  much  to  enjoy  in  life,  and 
do  not  need  the  extra  stimulus  of  fiery  liquor;  yet  the  great 
majority  of  army  officers,  as  well  as  soldiers,  are  drinking-men. 

The  notion  has  gone  abroad,  that  the  efficiency  of  troops  in  a 
campaign  is  increased  by  the  use  of  stimulants,  and  that  only  a 
half-drunken  soldier  is  wholly  courageous.  This  is  altogether 
a  mistake :  what  is  called  "  Dutch  courage,"'  the  temporary 
"bravery"  that  comes  from  whiskey  or  rum  or  gin,  is  only  a 
flash  in  the  pan ;  it  does  not  make  a  steady  fighter. 

The  leading  general  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  remarked 
once  in  reference  to  this  point,  that  "  he  dreaded  liquor  for  his 
men  a  good  deal  more  than  he  did  any  other  enemy ; "  and 
Stonewall  Jackson  spoke  the  simple  truth. 

And  I  know  of  one  Confederate  soldier,  at  least,  who  frankly 
confesses,  that,  if  the  officers  on  the  Southern  side  had  been 
more  temperate,  "  the  Lost  Cause  "  might  have  been  saved.  At 
least,  so  he  thinks. 

British  commanders,  alike  in  the  Crimea  and  in  Africa, 
under  a  torri<^l  sun,  and  under  the  influences  of  perpetual  cold, 
have  tried  the  experiment  of  strengthening  their  soldiers  by 
supplying  them  with  alcoholic  stimulants,  and  have  found  that 
the  experiment  was  a  failure. 

No,  no.  It  is  in  military  life  as  it  is  in  civic.  There  is  but 
one  humanity,  and  but  one  law  for  it,  — the  law  of  temperance. 
Alcohol  has  never  made  a  man  stronger,  and  never  will ;  for 
there  is  no  real  strength  in  it :  it  is  simply  what  it  is  called,  — 


FnEE  AND  A  SLAVE.  899 

a  "Btimulant,"  —  nntl  notlaiig  else.  It  is  not  a  tonic,  but  only 
nn  excitant ;  and,  the  less  the  army  and  the  navy  have  to  do 
with  it,  the  better  for  the  morale  and  the  phyHique  of  those 
departments.  But  to  return  to  myself.  My  discharge  from 
the  army  proved  to  me  that  I  had  still  some  friends  left,  whicli, 
under  the  circumstances,  was  more  tlmn  I  deserved.  It  also 
showed  mo  the  real  affection  of  my  brother  William,  who  had 
not  only  worked  hard  for  my  discharge,  but  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  seek  mo  out,  and  inform  me  of  my  good  fortune  sev- 
eral days  before  my  formal  discharge  was  handed  to  me  in 
person.  When  at  last  I  took  my  departure  from  cavalry  head- 
quarters forever,  I  experienced  a  feeling  of  gladness  and  relief, 
—  a  sense  of  freedom  which  was  inexpressibly  refreshing. 
This  feeling  amounted  to  positive  exaltation ;  and  under  its 
influence  (how  shall  I  write  it  ?  who  shall  believe  it  ?)  I  began 
to  drink  arjain,  — to  drink  the  very  day  that  I  was  set  free,  to 
make  a  slave  of  myself  to  rum  on  the  very  day  that  I  liad 
obtained  my  freedom.  Yes :  I  write  but  the  simple,  shameful 
truth.  Within  thirty  minutes  from  the  time  I  was  discharged 
from  the  United-States  cavalry,  I  began  to  drink ;  and  I  was 
drunk  for  thirty  days.  Such  is  the  fearful  power  of  intemper- 
ance when  once  it  has  taken  firm  hold  of  its  victim.  I  felt  all 
the  time  I  was  acting  like  a  fool,  a  beast,  and  a  scoundrel,  in 
fact,  disgracing  and  ruining  myself,  and  causing  my  kind 
friends,  who  deserved  far  different  conduct  at  my  hands,  the 
utmost  chagrin  and  anxiety.  I  do  believe  that  the  very  demon 
of  evil  had  at  this  time  seized  me.  In  the  language  of  Holy 
Writ,  I  was  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit. 

During  these  thirty  days  of  orgy,  this  month  of  shame,  I 
wandered  from  city  to  city,  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  all  over 
New- York  State.  I  had  one  companion,  a  poor  victim  of  drink 
like  myself.  We  two  drunkards,  with  just  enough  money  in 
our  pockets  to  pay  for  drinks,  with  a  little  food  and  lodging 


400  A  DoujiLK  "  rnoviDENCs:* 

thrown  in,  miule  the  days  foul,  and  the  nij?htH  hideous,  with  our 
dissipations ;  till  at  last  my  conipunion  waH,  fortunately  for  me, 
called  uway  by  urgent  business,  —  which  even  he,  sot  as  he  was, 
could  not  afford  to  neglect,  —  to  New  York  ;  our  parting  taking 
place  in  the  city  of  Providence,  R.I. 

This  place  waa  appropriately  named ;  for  it  was  here  and 
now,  under  the  providence  of  God,  that  I  came  to  my  senses, 
and  that  my  true  and  lasting  reformation  commenced. 

Awakening  from  my  debauch,  lonely  now  and  sick,  having 
passed  through  almost  every  phase  of  experience  possible  to 
humanity,  I  felt,  not  only  as  disgusted  with  myself  as  ever, 
but  I  felt  now  what  I  had  never  felt  before,  a  true  feeling 
of  genuine  remorse  for  my  transgression,  a  sorrow  for  uiy 
sin. 

There  is  a  wide  difference  between  remorse  and  repentance. 
I  had  often  experienced  the  one,  but  till  now  I  had  never  mani- 
fested the  other.  Remorse  is  a  sentiment  of  regret  wholly 
selfish,  —  a  selfish  sorrow  for  our  sins,  and  for  their  conse- 
quences upon  ourselves,  or,  it  may  be,  on  our  fellow  men  and 
women.  Hut  repentance  is  a  feeling  of  regret  for  sin,  because 
our  sin  has  offended  Heaven.  Repentance  regards  God,  where- 
as remorse  looks  merely  at  ourselves  or  at  the  world.  Remorse 
is  human,  and,  therefore,  often  weak,  and  comparatively  worth- 
less ;  but  repentance  is  ilivine. 

And  it  was  this  divine  repentance  that  here,  through  Provi- 
dence, in  Providence,  overpowered  me.  I  saw  and  felt  for  the 
first  time  how  I  had  offended  God  as  well  as  man.  And  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  knelt  down,  and  called,  not  only  in 
word,  but  in  spirit,  upon  the  Lord  to  help  me. 

I  determined  now  by  God's  grace  to  keep  sober,  and  by 
God's  grace  I  have  been  enabled  from  that  hour  to  this  to 
adhere  to  that  determination. 

Well  do  I  remember  the  words  of  this  my  first,  real,  frorar 


»A  NEW  LIFE."  401 

the-lioart  prayer.  "  0  Lord  atid  Saviour  Jesus  ChriHt  I "  I 
cried,  "  thou  who  didst  pardon  the  thief  upon  the  cross,  wilt 
thou  not  pardon  me  ?  "  They  wlio  coiuo  unto  the  Lord  Jesus 
ChriHt  shall  in  no  wise  he  cast  out. 

And,  having  prayed,  I  rose  from  my  knees,  and  walked  out 
into  the  streets  of  the  old  New-England  town.  I  felt  a  new 
life  already  in  me,  a  new  sense  of  power  as  well  as  an  inex- 
pressible sense  of  comfort. 

I  strolled  toward  the  bridge  on  Market  Square  ;  and,  standing 
there,  under  the  impulse  of  the  time  and  the  occasion  the  fol- 
lowing simple  verses  flashed  across  my  mind, — verses  which  I 
at  once  transcribed,  and  have  ever  since  retained  as  a  memento 
of  that  blessed  episode  in,  or,  rather,  that  blessed  beginning  of, 
my  life. 

Intemperance  claimed  me  as  its  own, 

And  reason  was  woll-niKh  o'erthrown ; 

Condemned,  I  wandered  far  abroad, 

Despised  by  man,  accursed  by  God. 

For  me  there  was  no  friendly  home : 

My  only  portion  was  to  roam. 

No  children  lisped  a  father's  name : 

My  parents  bowed  their  heads  in  shame. 

The  demon  rum  had  full  control, 

And  cast  its  shadow  o'er  my  soul. 

i;  could  not  pray,  I  dared  not  think  : 

1  only  moaned,  "  Oh,  give  me  drink  I " 

The  fiends  in  hell  then  heard  my  cry, 

Nor  pitied,  nor  would  let  me  die. 

And  well  I  knew  that  I  alone 

Was  guilty,  and  I  must  atone ; 

For  I,  when  life  was  fair  .and  young, 

When  hope's  sweet  song  was  all  unsung. 

Had  ta'en  a  serpent  to  my  breast, 

That  stung  me  till  I  had  no  rest. 

It  lured  me  on ;  I  thought  it  fair, 

I  thought  it  life ;  it  was  despair. 


402  "MY  SHACKLES  ARE  BROKEN." 

For  years  its  slimy  folds  did  bind 
My  bruised  form  and  wearied  mind. 


Is  there  no  hope  ?  the  billows  toss  I 
I'll  bow  me  humbly  'fore  the  Cross ; 
And  he  who  died  on  Calvary 
Perchance  will  turn  the  fiend  from  me. 
I  bowed ;  and,  lo !  from  heaven  above 
I  heard  a  voice  of  wondrous  love 
Say,  "  Rise,  poor  soul,  you  are  forgiven : 
Who  loves  the  Lord  shall  enter  heaven." 

I  make  no  pretensions  to  being  a  poet :  but  these  verses,  as  it 
were,  rushed  irresistibly  upon  me  then  and  there  ;  and,  as  for- 
ever identified  with  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life,  I  have 
recorded  them. 

And  having  composed  and  copied  this  unpretending  and 
spontaneous  effusion,  illustrative  alike  of  my  transgressions 
and  my  triumph,  my  sins  and  my  gratitude,  I  went  home  feeling 
as  though  my  shackles  were  broken,  and  a  load  had  fallen  from 
my  shoulders. 

I  will  here  add,  that  upon  this  very  bridge,  in  Market  Square, 
Providence,  R.I.,  I  had,  but  a  few  hours  before,  stood  (with  my 
companion  now  departed  to  New  York),  with  llie  determined 
purpose  to  commit  suicide  by  leaping  into  the  water.  But 
mow,  instead  of  destroying  soul  and  body,  I  had  saved  both. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

A  CONVERTED  MAN'S  TltlALS. — FEAU  AS  AN  ENCOUKAQINQ  SIGN.  —  YES 
AND  NO,  OB  A  SCENE  AT  MIDNIGHT. — THE  LIGHTNING-ROD  MAN.  —  THE 
LIFE-INSURANCE  AGENT.  — THE  "  DRUMMER "  AND  HIS  "SAMPLES." 
—  BOOK  CANVASSING.  —  A  TRUE  FRIEND  AND  SECOND  FATHER. 

I  WAS  now  a  converted  man,  reformed  drunkard,  truly  con- 
verted, truly  reformed.  I  felt  it  then,  I  feel  it  still.  But  even 
a  converted  and  reformed  man  must  live :  he  must  have  food 
and  clothes ;  and,  unless  he  inherits  them,  he  must  earn  them. 
I  therefore  determined  at  once  to  set  to  work  and  earn  an  hon- 
est, as  well  as  a  sober,  living.  But  how  ?  No  matter.  I  was 
used  to  that  question  by  this  time.  I  had  answered  it  before, 
when  a  drunkard  :  certainly  I  was  prepared  to  answer  it  now, 
as  a  non-drinking  man.  I  determined  to  get  emjjloyment  at 
all  hazards,  and  so  I  began  the  search. 

My  first  great  want  was  a  little  ready  mone}'  to  live  on  while 
seeking  employment.  Time  is  the  real  lever  with  which  Ar- 
chimedes can  move  his  world ;  but,  to  have  the  advantages  of 
time,  one  must  be  abie  to  control  it  as  well  as  himself:  he  must 
have  money ;  for  time  is  money,  and  money  is  time.  Here  my 
usual  luck  did  not  altogether  forsake  me  :  for,  meeting  a  friend, 
I  procured  from  him  a  small  amount  of  ready  cash ;  and  with 
this  I  obtained  a  room  in  a  lodging-house.  It  was  but  a  very 
small  room,  —  what  is  known  as  "  a  six  by  nine  ; "  a  hall  bed- 
room, an  attic ;  one  of  those  apartments  you  cannot  conven- 
iently swing  a  cat  in  without  hurting  the  cat ;  but  it  was  clean, 
and  had  a  good  bed  in  it ;  and  it  was  not  a  bar-room,  nor  near 

^3 


404  ON  THE   VERGE  OF  PERDITION. 

a  bar-room.  Tliat  was  something  :  that  was  every  thing  to  me 
just  then.  True,  for  many  a  day  I  lived  on  but  one  meal  a 
day,  and  a  scanty  meal  at  that.  True,  for  many  a  day  I  walked 
about  hungry,  and  many  a  night  I  went  to  bed  hungry.  But 
what  of  that  ?  I  walked  the  streets  sober  every  day ;  and  I 
went  to  bed  sober  every  night,  thank  God !  I  would  not  take 
the  world  for  that  reflection  now. 

And  perhaps  the  most  encouraging  sign  in  my  state  this 
time  was,  tliat  I  constantly  feared  myself.  I  knew  my  own 
weakness,  and  constantly  dreaded  a  fall ;  and,  therefore,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  I  fell  NOT.  His  strength  was  made  perfect 
through  my  weakness.  Had  I  now,  or  at  times  past,  been 
puffed  up  with  pride,  had  I  been  self-confident,  I  feel  sure  I 
would  have  fallen,  and  probably  forever;  for  there  is  an  end, 
even  to  divine  forbearance.  The  Holy  Spirit  will  not  always 
strive  with  men.  But  I  was  constantly  on  my  gaard  against 
ray  own  appetite  for  drink.  I  watched  myself  carefully, 
prayerfully.  I  had  cause.  Had  I  not  fallen  time  and  time 
again,  when  I  had  every  thing  to  sustain  and  encourage  me? 
Had  I  not  thrown  away  for  rum  all  the  comforts  and  decencies 
of  life  ?  Had  I  not  embittered  the  last  hours  of  my  dear,  dead 
father  by  my  intemperance?  Had  I  not  rendered  my  brothers' 
hearts  heavy?  Had  I  not  brought  sorrow  upon  my  sincere 
friends  ?  AVell  might  I,  therefore,  fear  my  own  depravity  and 
weakness  now,  —  now  just  recovered  from  a  debaucli,  now  just 
beginning  my  new  life  of  self-control,  now  with  the  demon 
thirst,  the  drunkard's  devil,  coursing  through  my  veins.  It 
really  was  almost  a  moral  miracle  that  I  did  not  fall,  as  I  had  so 
often  fallen  before.  But  there  is  One  qbove  (I  am  thoroughly 
convinced  of  it)  who  heareth  prayer.  Ard  he  had  heard  my 
supplications,  and  had  bestowed  upon  me  strength,  not  mine, 
but  his.  One  night  —  never  shall  I  forget  that  night —  I  was 
upon  the  very  verge  of  perdition,  —  upon  the  very  brink  of 


THE  SAFEST  PLACE  FOR  A  REFORMED  DRUNKARD.       405 

falling.  I  had  retired  worn  and  weary  with  trudging  after 
work  to  no  purpose,  at  an  early  hour,  but  found  myself  unable 
to  get  to  sleep.  At  last  I  resolved  to  take  a  little  walk  to 
quiet  my  nerves ;  and,  ijrising,  I  dressed  myself  hurriedly,  and 
went  out  into  the  streets.  It  was  only  a  few  minutes  past 
eleven  o'clock,  and  there  were  people  still  in  the  streets.  And, 
alas !  there  were  liquor-saloons  all  around  me,  and  in  full  blast. 
From  some  of  these  saloons  the  sounds  of  merriinent  were 
wafted  to  my  ear.  They  seemed  to  imply  so  much  sociality 
and  humanity  to  me  in  my  lonely  condition,  that  I  was  irre- 
sistibly attracted  towards  the  places  from  which  they  issued. 
The  saloons  were  well  lighted,  too,  and  looked,  as  well  as 
sounded,  cheerful.  I  contrasted  the  brightness  and  the  life 
within  them  with  my  dreary  loneliness ;  and  I  approached  one 
of  these  saloons  more  closely,  and  more  closely  still,  till  I 
entered  it. 

Yes,  I  entered  it.  Yes,  I  looked  around  Avith  longing  at  the 
old,  familiar  bar,  with  its  tempting  array  of  bottles  and  glasses. 
Yes,  I  looked  at  and  nodded  to  the  bar-keeper,  with  whom  I 
was  personally  acquainted.  Yes,  I  came  up  to  the  bar,  and 
shook  hands  with  him  across  it.  Yes,  I  got  into  a  little  chat 
with  him  about  old  times.  I  had  known  him  for  several  years, 
and  had  not  seen  him  for  over  eighteen  months.  Yes,  he 
asked  me  to  take  something;  meaning,  of  course,  by  "some- 
thing," not  something  worth  taking,  —  not  money  or  food  or 
raiment, — but  rum.     Yes,  I  said  I  would. 

But,  thank  Gou !  no,  I  did  NOT.     No,  no,  no,  I  did  not  take 
"something;"   no,  at  the  very  last  moment  I  put  down  the 
glass  untasted,  rushed  from  the  bar-room,  rushed  to  my  lodg-. 
ing-house,  rushed  to  my  little  den  of  a  room,  and  rushed  upon 
my  knees. 

I  tell  you,  his  knees  are  the  safest  place  for  the  reformed 
drunkard  who  would  stay  reformed. 


406  TDE  ''CHEEKY"  FOUR. 

Rising  refreshed  from  my  supplications,  I  retired  to  bed  for 
the  second  time  that  night,  and  this  time  thankful  and  trium- 
phant. The  same  kind  Trovidence  that  had  preserved  me  tliat 
night  provided  for  me  the  next  morning.  I  came  across  an 
acquaintance  who  procured  for  me  a  position  as  a  book-can- 
vasser. 

I  see  the  smile,  that,  at  this  statement,  makes  its  appearance 
on  my  reader's  face ;  and  I  understand  it :  my  reader  has  met 
before  this  with  a  book-canvasser,  and  smiles  at  his  persistent 
"cheek;"  or,  perchance,  he  does  not  smile,  he  frowns,  —  frowns 
at  the  recollection  of  the  way  that  book-agent  bored  him  and 
bothered  him. 

Well,  it  makes  but  little  difference  to  the  book-canvasser 
whether  the  reader  (his  victim)  smiles  or  frowns:  smile  or 
frown  are  all  the  same  to  him.  He  sells  books,  or  tries  to  sell 
them,  alike  to  the  smiling  and  the  frowning,  to  the  courteous 
or  to  the  harsh.  lie  is  a  very  practical  man,  this  book- 
canvasser.  It  has  al  ^  o  been  a  disputed  point  among  men 
of  the  world,  as  weL  as  philosophers,  which  of  the  four  has  the 
most  "  cheek,'" — genuine,  unblushing,  and  persistent  "brass," 
—  the  lightning-rod  man,  the  life-insurance  agent,  the  commer- 
cial traveller,  or  the  book-canvasser. 

Numberless  stories  have  been  told  of  each  of  the  four,  with 
more  or  less  truth  ;  and  I  confess  that  I  have  never  yet  been 
able  to  make  up  my  mind  satisfactorily  on  this  point. 

There  was  a  lightning-rod  man  once  named  Eaves,  of  whom 
I  heard  a  story  that  is  worth  the  telling,  as  illustrating  the 
perseverance  of  his  tribe,  though  in  this  particular  case  it 
game  to  grief. 

Eaves  had  struck  a  little  town  out  West,  and,  meeting  a 
worthy  citizen,  bored  him  unmercifully  with  requests  to  be 
allowed  to  put  up  liis  lightning-rods. 

At  last  the  worthy  citizen  stopped,  and  stood  before  quite  a 


A  LIGHTNING-ROD  MAN'S  STORY.  407 

large  house,  and  gazed  at  it  with  such  a  fond,  admiring  look, 
that  the  lightning-rod  man  at  once  took  it  for  granted  that  it 
was  the  worthy  citizen's  own  residence. 

Eagerly  he  asked  for  permission  to  run  up  his  rods  on  this 
structure ;  and  the  permission,  to  his  delight,  was  granted. 
Like  a  cat  after  a  mouse,  the  lightning-rodist  went  up  and 
down  and  about  the  outside  of  that  building,  absolutely  per- 
spiring with  his  gymnastic  and  other  efforts,  till  his  self- 
appointed  task  was  done,  and  done  in  the  quickest  time  for 
lightning-rods  on  record.  Then  he  asked  the  worthy  citizen, 
who  had  looked  on,  blandly  smiling,  for  his  pay. 

"  Your  what  ?  ''  asked  the  worthy  citizen. 

«  My  pay." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"Why,  for  putting  up  my  lightning-rod  on  your  house  there." 

"My  house  there?"  said  the  worthy  citizen,  smiling  still 
more  blandly.  "  Why,  man,  that  is  not  my  house  ;  it  belongs 
to  the  corporation  ;  that  is  the  town-hall." 

"But  you  said  I  might  run  up  my  rod  there,"  said  the 
enraged  rod-man. 

"  So  you  can  ;  in  fact,  you  have  :  and  I  am  sure  the  corpora- 
tion will  thank  you  for  your  trouble." 

The  story  does  not  state  whether  Eaves  got  the  value  of  his 
rods,  or  took  them  down ;  but  it  is  safe  betting  that  he  got  the 
value  of  his  rods. 

Another  man,  a  life-insurance  agent,  was  the  tern  r  of  a 
large  section  of  country,  and  for  ten  years,  or  so,  had  con- 
tributed, unchecked,  his  quota  to  the  sum  of  human  misery, 
lie  was  a  terribly  "persistent  cuss,"  as  they  say  out  West,  and 
was  in  all  his  life  brought  to  grief  only  once ,  but  that  once 
was  by  a  woman,  of  course. 

She  was  a  modest-looking  woman,  too,  soft-voiced,  demure, 
eminently  respectable.    She  sat  on  the  porch  of  her  little 


408  EASN'T  COrPLAINED  FOR  FIVE  YEARS. 

cottage-home  one  evening,  when  the  life-insurance  man  passed 
by.  She  had  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes,  which  rested  on  the 
hills  in  the  distance. 

The  life-insurance  man  stepped  softly  to  her  side. 

"  Good-evening,  ma'am,"  he  said,  almost  tenderly. 

*'  Good-evening,  sir,"  she  said,  very  politely. 

"  Sitting  all  alone,  I  see,  madam,"  remarked  the  life-insurance 
man,  in  his  light,  airy,  familiar  way.  "  Husband  stepped  out,  I 
presume." 

"  My  husband  is  not  at  home,  sir,"  said  the  woman  simply. 

"  Ah !  sorry  for  that,  ma'am,"  remarked  the  life-insurance 
man;  "for  I  am  sure  that  I  could  have  convinced  him  of  the 
paramount  importance,  nay,  the  absolute  duty,  of  his  insuring 
his  valuable  life  in  my  company,  for  the  benefit  of  his  —  his 
charming  wife,  ma'am  : "  here  he  bowed  and  smirked  to  the 
lady,  who  simply  said  in  reply,  — 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  you  can 
induce  my  husband  to  insure  in  your  company."  And  then  she 
added,  with  a  gentle  sigh,  soft  as  the  breath  of  June  among  its 
roses,  "  I  wish  you  could." 

Hero  was  unlooked-for  encouragement,  indeed.  Here  was 
the  wife  (the  real  head  of  the  family :  the  life-insurance  man 
knew  enough  of  women  to  know  that,  being  a  married  nan 
himself),  wishing  that  her  husband  could  be  insured  ;  wliat 
could  be  better?  Between  the  wife  and  the  life-insurance 
agent,  that  husband  was  as  good  as  insured  already. 

But  first  it  would  be  just  as  well,  the  life-insurance  man  said 
to  himself,  to  ascertain  something  about  this  husband. 

"  Is  your  husband  healthy,  ma'am  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously,  as 
if  inquiring  about  the  health  of  a  near  and  dear  relative,  possi- 
bly mother-in-law. 

"He  has  not  complained  of  any  thing  whatever  for  these 
five  years,"  said  the  lady. 


THE  LIFE-INSURANCE  AGENTS  STORY.  409 

The  insurance-man  smiled. 

"  Are  his  habits  regular  ? "  continued  the  life-insurance  man. 

"Perfectly  so,"  replied  the  fond  wife,  proudly  adding,  "I 
always  know  where  to  find  him." 

The  insurance-man  smiled  more  broadly.  Such  a  husband 
was  likely  to  be  a  treasure,  not  only  to  his  family,  but  to  his 
company. 

"  Does  he  never  go  about  any  at  nights,  madam  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Never,"  replied  she. 

"  Well,  not  even  hardly  ever  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  No,  absolutely  never,"  replied  she  seriously. 

•'  What  a  jewel  of  a  husband  !  "  said  the  life-insurance  man. 

"  My  only  jewel ! "  said  the  lady ;  and  again  the  far-oif  look 
stole  into  her  eyes,  as  they  rested  on  the  outlines  of  the  distant 
hills. 

"Madam,"  cried  the  insurance-man,  in  a  fit  of  professional 
rapture,  "  I  must  see  your  husband." 

"  You  cannot  see  him,"  said  the  lady. 

"I  must  speak  to  him,"  persisted  the  life-Insurance  man 
rather  wonderingly. 

"You  cannot  speak  to  him,"  said  the  lady  decidedly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  inquired  the  perplexed  insurance-mun. 

"  Because  he  is  dead,^^  said  his  widow  softly,  sadly,  sweetly. 
But  this  time  the  far-away  look  in  her  eyes  was  not  half  so  far 
away  as  that  life-insurance  man  got,  and  as  rapidlj'  as  possible. 

As  for  "  drummers,"  or  "  commercial  travellers  "  as  they  are 
called,  their  assurance  is  as  proverbial  as  their  enterprise. 
These  men  form  a  class  mi  generis,  and  their  "  cheek  "  is 
colossal. 

But  their  tact  and  shrewdness  is  fully  equal  to  their 
"  cheek :  "  their  brains  are  equal  to  their  brass.  They  are  cer- 
tainly "wise  as  serpents,"  if  not  altogether  "harmless  as 
doves." 


410  THE  "  DUUMMER'S"   STORY. 

A  drummer  some  years  ago  "struck"  a  little  town  in  In- 
diana, wh(  !  the  principal  "  merchant "  of  the  place  vas  bit- 
terly opposed  to  "  driuniiier,s,"  making  it  a  rule  to  insult  thera 
whenever  they  approached  liim  in  the  way  of  business. 

But  tliis  particular  drummer  had  determined  to  sell  this  par- 
ticular merchant  his  goods,  and  went  about  it  in  a  characteristio 
manner.  He  walked  into  the  store  one  morning,  and  the  mer- 
chant seemed  by  instinct  to  penetrate  his  character.  "  You're 
one  of  those  chaps  they  call  drummers,  ain't  you  ?  "  said  the 
merchant  with  a  sneer. 

"A  drummer?"  said  the  "drummer"  innocently.  "Oh, 
no !  You  are  laboring  under  some  mistake,  sir.  True,  we 
have  a  man  in  our  organization,  —  our  band,  —  who  does  play 
the  drum,  and  plays  it  well ;  but  I  am  not  that  man.  I  am  the 
business  agent  of  the  troop,  not  the  drummer." 

"  Band  I  troop!  what  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  the 
merchant  curiously.     "  Who  are  you,  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  agent  of  the  so-and-so  band  of  minstrels  "  (nam- 
ing some  minstrel-troop  he  had  just  seen  "  posted  "  on  the  walls 
of  the  town),  replied  the  young  man  ,  "  and  I  liave  called  to  see 
if  I  could  not  prevail  upon  you  and  your  family  to  honor  our 
entertainment  with  your  presence  to-night." 

"  Humph !  not  a  '  commercial  traveller,'  only  a  '  nigger  min- 
strel,' "  remarked  the  merchant,  sotto  voce  ;  then  aloud,  "  Young 
man,  neither  I  nor  my  family  are  in  the  habit  of  attending 
'  shows.' " 

"  Of  course  not,  as  a  general  thing,"  said  the  young  man 
calmly.  "  I  know  that.  A  man  in  your  position  cannot  do  that 
sort  of  thing  as  a  rule.  It  would  be  beneath  your  character 
and  dignity.  But,  really,  our  entertainment  is  of  a  very  high 
order ;  and  I  have  called  to  beg  you  to  accept  three  of  the  best 
seats  in  the  house,  for  to-night,  as  the  guests  of  the  entertain- 
ment, without  any  expense  on  your  part,  of  course.    We  wish 


A  MAN   WHO  MEANT  TO  KEEP  HIS   WORT).  411 

;o  prove  that  we  are  patronized  by  the  leading  people  of  each 
lown  in  which  we  perform,  and  so  "  — 

"  You  have  come  to  secure  my  presence  and  that  of  my 
family  as  one  of  your  indorsements,  eh  ? "  remarked  the  mer- 
chant, now  smiling  pleasantly.  Like  a  great  many  men,  he 
had  conscientious  objections  against  paying/  to  attend  public 
amusements,  but  Ids  objections  did  not  extend  to  free  tickets. 

*' Precisoly,"  said  the  young  man.  "Permit  me  to  beg  your 
acceptance  of  this  order  for  —  for  how  many  shall  I  make  the 
order  for  seats  for  this  evening,  sir?    Three?" 

"  Well,  you  might  as  well  make  it  for  /our,  young  man," 
suggested  the  merchant  pleasantly. 

The  young  man  said,  "Four,  certainly;"  and,  sitting  down, 
he  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper,  "  Give  bearer  four  of  the  best 
seats  nearest  the  stage,"  directed  it  to  the  "  Treasurer  of  So- 
and-so  jNIinstrel  Troop,"  and  signed  it  with  his  own  name. 

"  There,  sir,"  said  the  drummer,  handing  the  merchant  this 
piece  of  paper,  "  present  this  at  the  box-office  of  the  hall  any 
time  to-day,  the  sooner  the  better,  any  time  after  twelve 
o'clock  (it  was  now  eleven),  and  you  will  receive  your  seats. 
Be  sure  to  use  them." 

"I  surely  will,"  said  the  merchant;  and,  if  ever  man  meant 
to  keep  his  word,  he  did. 

"And  now  may  I  ask,  do  you  not  perform  yourself?"  in- 
quired the  merchant  blandly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  but  I  would  like  to  bet  you  will  not  recognize  me 
when  you  see  me  this  evening,"  answered  the  young  man. 

"  Don't  be  so  sure  of  that,"  laughed  the  merchant.  "  I  have 
quick  eyes.  What  particular  line  of  character  will  you  assume 
this  evening?" 

"Oh!  that  would  be  giving  myself  away,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Wait  till  I  have  given  you  a  sample  of  my  quality,  and 
then  see  if  you  can  recognize  me  in  the  performance." 


412  "I  8UALL  LIKE  YOUR  SAMPLE." 

"  Right,  young  man,"  said  the  merchant.  *'  But  I  feel  sure 
that  I  shall  like  your  mwiplc." 

"I  may  romiud  you  of  those  wordn  to-morrow,' sir,"  suid  the 
young  man.  And,  after  a  little  more  "cliin-niusic,"  he  liowed 
himself  out  of  tho  store,  accompanied  to  the  door  by  the  new 
affable  proprietor. 

At  that  moment  tho  "order"  on  the  box-office  for  four 
seats  was,  of  course,  worth  no  more  than  tho  paper  it  was  writ- 
ten on.  But  within  fifteen  minutes  it  was  worth  what  it  called 
for.  For  the  drummer  rushed  round  to  the  box-office,  bought 
and  paid  for  four  of  the  best  seats,  and  arranged  that  they 
should  bo  handed  at  once,  without  remark,  to  the  party  who 
presented  the  order,  which  was  presented  within  less  than  an 
hour  afterwards  by  no  less  a  person  than  tho  merchant  himself. 

That  night  the  merchant,  wife,  son,  and  daughter,  were  pres- 
ent at  tho  minstrel-show,  but  looked  in  vain  for  tho  young  man 
who  had  given  the  order.  "  It  is  astonishing  how  these  show- 
people  can  disguise  themselves,"  the  merchant  said  to  his  wife. 
"  That  young  man  promised  to  give  me  a  sample  of  his  quality, 
but  here  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover  any  signs  of  hira  all 
this  evening." 

But  he  "discovered  signs  of  him"  early  the  next  morning. 
For  about  ten  o'clock  the  young  man  put  in  an  appearance, 
smiling,  and  carrying  a  black  box  under  his  arm. 

Warm  greetings  having  been  exchanged,  the  young  man 
said  to  the  merchant,  "  Well,  sir,  did  you  enjoy  the  show  ?  " 

"  Extremely,"  said  the  merchant. 

*'  And  did  you  recognize  me  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not,"  said  the  merchant,  rather 
crestfallen. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  sir,"  now  said  the  young  man  in  his 
turn,  "it  wc  Id  have  been  a  wonder  if  you  had;  for  I  did  not 
perform  last  night.    But  I  promised  to  give  you  a  sample  of 


FOUR   VERY  USEFUL  CLASSES  OF  MEN.  413 

my  quality,  nncl  I  hIiuU  kocp  my  word.  Ifere  ia  a  full  sample 
of  my  line  of  goodg"  coiitiuuutl  tho  young  nuiu,  opening  liiri 
black  box,  or  baiiiplu-cuHe,  uuJ  exhibiting  his  wiuen,  ripreading 
them  out  in  long  array  before  the  dunifoumled  merchant. 
"And  remember,"  said  tho  young  man  nu'aningly,  "you  prom- 
ised me  here  yesterday  that  you  mhmld  like  the  sample." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  Tho  merchant  had  been  neatly 
cornered.  For  very  shame's  sake,  and  for  tho  foin-  "free" 
tickets'  sake,  lie  had  to  "like  the  sample  "  and  to  order  some 
goods. 

With  all  their  check  and  eccentricities,  the  "drummers,"  or 
"commercial  travellers,"  are  a  very  useful  set  of  men,  and 
play  an  important  part  in  our  modern  mercantile  civilization. 

They  have  many  estimable  qualities,  and  are  united  by  a 
bond  of  more  than  common  bvotherhood.  And  they  have  or- 
ganized a  system  of  mutual-oenefit  association  and  life-insur- 
ance among  themaelves  which  works  admirably,  and  deserves 
the  highest  praise. 

Their  chief  faults  are  inseparable  from  their  roving,  specula- 
tive, competitive  system  of  living  and  doing  business,  over- 
eagerness  for  gain,  and  over-indulgence  in  stimulants.  Let  us 
trust  that  time,  experience,  and  a  higher  grade  of  morality,  will 
correct  these  evils. 

As  for  life-insurance  canvassers,  they  are  a  very  useful  class 
of  men,  indeed.  They  deal  in  a  matter  of  paramount  impor- 
tance ;  and  to  them,  more  than  to  any  other  one  agency,  is  due 
the  success  of  the  life-insurance  system  of  to-day. 

Even  the  lightning-rod  men  have  their  uses,  as  many  a  barn 
and  many  a  big  building  will  testify  during  a  thunder-shower. 

As  for  book-canvassers,  they  aie  important  factors  in  the 
maich  of  progress.  Not  only  do  they  earn  an  honest  living  for 
themselves,  but  they  tend  directly  to  disseminate  intelligence 
among  the  people.    Many  a  man  or  woman  has  been  induced, 


414  I  OAm  A   TRUE  FRIEND. 

first  to  buy,  then  to  read,  good  books,  solely  by  the  persistent 
efforts  of  the  book-canvassers. 

And  book-canvassing  has  this  most  commendable  feature. 
It  gives  woman  —  working  woman  —  a  chance  to  earn  her 
bread.  This  point  should  not  be  overlooked.  True,  this  very 
feature  has  been  abused.  True,  not  a  few  female  book-can- 
vassers make  their  ostensible  business  merely  an  excuse  to  call 
upon  men  at  their  offices,  and  places  of  business,  and  form  their 
acquaintance  in  a  personal,  social,  and  illegitimate  way.  This 
sort  of  thing  is  largely  carried  on  in  great  cities,  especially  in 
the  city  of  New  York ;  as  almost  every  rich  man  can  testify 
from  experience.  But  every  thing,  from  religion  down,  has 
been  abused ;  and,  as  every  moralist  knows,  the  abuse  of  a 
thing  is  no  argument  whatever  against  its  legitimate  use. 

Book-canvassing  is  as  honorable  a  calling,  if  honorably  pur- 
sued, as  any  other ;  and  I  now  went  into  it  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul.  It  brought  me  fair  results  in  the  way  of  money. 
But,  above  all,  it  gained  me,  what  is  far  more  than  money,  a 
true  friend.  .      >  ( 

The  Lord  was  surely  smiling  on  me  now;  for  amon-r  the 
very  first  men  upon  whom  I  called  in  the  way  of  business  as 
a  book-canvasser  was  Mr.  Henry  F.  Ferrin,  an  auctioneer 
and  commission  merchant,  74  Weybossett  Street,  Providence, 
—  a  promintint  temperance  man,  and  genuine  temperance 
worker. 

Although  I  was  a  stranger  to  Mr.  Ferrin,  he  asked  mc  some 
kindly  questions  relative  to  myself ;  and  when  I  hinted  at  the 
outlines  of  my  history  as  a  reformed,  or,  rather,  trying-to-re- 
form,  drunkard,  his  sympathies  were  instantly  aroused.  And, 
in  turn,  his  warm-hearted  sympathy  led  me  to  a  full  confession 
of  my  past  errors  to  this  stranger. 

I  told  him  all,  concluding  with  my  recent  lecture  at  Boston, 
and  my  still  more  recent  fall.    In  short,  I  told  to  him  my  whole 


Thomas  N.  Doutney  as  lie  appeared,  selling  books,  when  he  first  met 
Mr.  H.  F.  Ferrin  at  his  place  of  business  in  Providence,  B.I.  Mr.  Ferrin 
afterwards  became  the  instrumentality  in  Mr.  Doutney's  reformation. 
[Sketched  by  Mrs.  Albertina  Carter.] 


GOOD  ADVICE.  415 

history.  I  wonder  that  he  did  not  shrink  from  me  when  he 
heard  it ;  but  in  the  goodness  of  his  heart  he  received  me  with 
open  arms,  and  promised  me  all  the  assistance  in  his  power  to 
keep  me  from  falling. 

God  alone  knows  what  the  result  might  have  been  had  he 
turned  from  me  and  spurned  me.  And  this  day  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  some  higher  power  influenced  the  heart  of  that 
Christian  gentleman  to  start  me  aright,  and  to  show  me  that 
all  was  not  lost. 

This  practical  aid  was  what  I  least  of  all  deserved,  but 
what  I  most  of  all  needed ;  and  it  did  me  a  world  of  good. 
To  Henry  F.  Ferrin,  Esq.,  next  to  Almighty  God,  I  owe  my 
holding  out.  He  entreated  me  to  join  several  temperance 
orders  with  which  he  was  connected ;  viz.,  "  The  Temple  of 
Honor,"  and  "  The  Sons  of  Jonadab,"  assuring  me  that  the 
influences  I  would  there  meet  would  help  to  sustain  me  in  my 
good  resolutions,  which  they  did. 

In  regard  to  my  lecturing  on  temperance,  Mr.  Ferrin  said, 
"You  have  lectured  once  on  temperance,  and  failed  :  you  must 
lecture  once  more,  and  succeed.  Start  again  as  a  speaker  by 
speaking  here  in  Providence."  I  replied,  "  Mr.  Ferrin,  I  hardly 
dare  attempt  it.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stand,  and  that  I  may 
again  be  the  means  of  hurting  the  good  cause.  God  knows  I 
desire  to  reform ;  but  I  fear,  I  fear."  Was  this  modesty  true 
humility  ?  or  was  it  the  arch-tempter  whispering  specious  pre- 
texts in  my  ear  at  the  decisive  moment  when,  perhaps,  my  fate 
stood  trembling  in  the  balance  ? 

My  best  of  friends  (for  so  I  must  ever  call  Mr.  Ferrin)  finally 
entreated  me  in  so  earnest  and  kindly  a  manner,  that  my  better, 
or  bolder,  self  triumphed,  in  saying,  "  You  are  in  the  hands  of 
a  true  friend:  and  sink  or  swim,  fail  or  succeed,  follow  his 
advice  :  "  and  I  forthwith  followed  it.  I  felt  a  solid  and  most 
comforting  assurance  that  my  heavenly  Father  had  sent  me 


416  VITAL  CnmSTIANITY. 

one  to  be  as  an  earthly  father  to  me,— a  father  in  whom  I 
could  trust,  and  by  whom  I  could  be  guided  in  all  tilings. 

Mr.  Fen-in  not  only  gave  me  practical  ad  ice  in  regard  to  my 
contemplated  lecture,  but  entered  with  lively  interest  into  the 
details  of  my  plans.  He  referred  me  to  different  temperance 
people  in  the  city  who  would  be  most  apt  to  aid  me,  and 
even  in  some  cases  accompanied  me,  and  gave  me  a  personal 
introduction  and  warm  indorsement. 

.  Ay,  my  kind  friend  even  put  his  hands  into  his  own  pockets, 
and  advanced  me  money  to  meet  my  present  necessities  and 
daily  expenses. 

Ah !  there  are  men  in  this  world  whose  Christianity  is  not  a 
sham,  but  a  vital  Chriatmmiy.  And  men  like  Henry  F.  Ferrin 
justify  the  assertion  of  the  sage,  that  "  there  is  something  good 
in  human  nature  after  all." 


7/yi/uy>'''i^ 


,        CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

I  JOIN  THE  TEMPEBANCB  BANDR. — nEMABKS  A8  TO  THE  OIIEAT  UflEFCL- 
»K88  OF  "TEMPKRANCK  SOCIETIES."  —  I  LECTURE  UNDER  FAVORABLE 
AUSPICES.  —  MY  TRIUMPH  AND  MY  TROUBLES.  —  MY  BOOK  AND  MY 
PRINTERS.  —  I  LECTURE  IN  WA8IIINOTON.  —  TEMPERANCE  AND  INTEM- 
PERANCE AMONG  OUR  PUBLIC  MEN. —SUMNER  AND  WILSON  COMPARED 
WITH  SAUL8BUUY   AND  MCOOUOALL. 

One  memorable  night  —  shall  I  ever  forget  it?  —  I  went  withi 
my  kind,  true  friend  and  benefactor,  Mr.  Ferrin,  to  be  enrolled 
among  the  professed  defenders  of  temperance.  As  I  made  my 
way  to  the  hall,  where  my  new  brothers  in  the  good  work  were 
awaiting  me,  my  heart  swelled  within  me  with  mingled  emo- 
tions, —  joy  and  gratitude  for  my  present  state  of  mind  ;  hope  for 
my  future  ;  and  perhaps  most  really  encouraging,  though  thea 
depressing,  sign  of  all,  shame  for  my  besotted  past.  The  pano"- 
rama  of  my  evil,  foolish,  base  career  was  unrolled  before  me, 
and  I  saw  myself  as  I  had  been.  I  was  frightened  at  the  spec- 
tacle, and  filled  with  fear  —  fear  for  myself — that  I  might  even' 
now  fall  once  more  as  I  had  fallen  before.  I  trembled  for  my- 
self; but  grace  was  given  me,  and  I  persevered  unto  the  end. 

Mr.  Ferrin  introduced  me  to  the  temperance  brotherhood, 
and  I  was  duly  initiated.  When  I  saw  the  kind  brothers 
gather  around  me,  felt  them  press  my  hand,  and  heard  thera 
congratulate  me  on  having  joined  their  noble  order,  my  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  but  my  heart  grew  strong ;  for  I  knew  that  I 
was  at  last  among  those  who  would  not  tempt  and  taint  me, 
but  would  protect  and  shield  me.  No,  I  never  shall  forget 
that  night.     I  felt  buoyant  and  cheerful,  and  firm  in  the  good 

417 


418  TEMPEIiANCE  SOCIETIES. 

cause.  I  liave  since  connected  myself  with  the  Sons  of  Tem- 
perance, aiul  the  Independent  Order  of  Good  Teniphira. 

I  would  hero  renuirk,  that  I  believe  in  temi)erunco  organi- 
zations and  societies  as  important  agencies  in  temperance  work. 
Man  is  a  social  being,  so  constituted  by  his  Creator ;  and  social 
agencies  fill  a  prominent  place  in  the  scheme  of  human  destiny. 

And  as  social  hifluences  are  too  often  used  for  evil;  so  they 
should  be,  whenever  possible,  employed  for  good. 

The  social  influences  are  particularly  brought  into  play  by 
the  drinking  and  drink-dealing  class.  Every  hotel-keeper,  bar- 
keeper, rum-seller,  is  a  "  social "  man.  The  great  majority  of 
the  men  who  ask  us  to  drink,  and  who  set  us  the  example,  are 
"  social  "  beings,  "  good  fellows,"  so  called.  There  is  a  super- 
fluity of  "  drinking  "  society  ;  and,  to  counteract  all  this,  there 
should  be  an  abundance  of  "temperance"  society,  —  the  soci- 
ety of  non-drinking  men  and  women,  who  would  entertain  and 
smile  upon  and  encourage  the  man  and  the  woman  who  do  not 
drink. 

Consequently,  under  certain  conditions,  and  in  their  time 
and  place,  organized  temperance  societies  are  valuable,  nay, 
invaluable.  True,  they  can  never  be  depended  upon  to  supply 
the  place  of  individual  will-power  and  force  of  character.  No 
man  can  ever  be  a  temperance  man  if  he  depends  upon  any 
•one  society  or  any  number  of  societies  to  keep  him  temperate. 
Only  the  grace  of  God,  and  his  own  strength  of  soul,  can  keep 
'liim  sober.  But  as  adjuncts  to  individuality,  as  means  of 
•grace,  temperance  societies  are  most  desirable,  commendable, 
and  practically  useful.  I  would  advise  all  my  readers  to  con- 
nect themselves  with  some  such  organization,  or  several  of 
them,  —  the  more  the  better. 

It  was  soon  known  among  my  new  brethren,  that  I  had  at 
one  time  attempted  a  temperance  lecture ;  and,  spite  of  my 
failure  in  this  line,  it  was  now  suggested  that  I  should  renew 


BRETUIiEN  INDEED.  419 

tho  attempt  under  more  encouraging  auspices.  I  felt  grateful 
for  tho  HuggcHtioii,  and  accepted  it. 

My  new-made  brethren  in  the  temperance  cause  did  not  do 
to  mo  as  many  temperance  societies  —  too  many  —  do  unto 
others  in  my  condition :  they  did  not  put  nu>  on  probation  for 
a  long  period,  during  which  period  I  was  to  be  regarded  with 
suspicion,  and,  although  sorely  tenii)ted,  was  to  be  only  spar- 
ingly encouraged.  They  did  not  wait  to  see  whether  I  "  would 
hold  out,"  meanwhile  making  it  as  hard  as  possible  for  me 
to  "  hold  out."  They  did  not  keep  me  without  money,  or  the 
chance  to  make  it,  doing  nothing  but  feeling  luuigry,  and  try- 
ing to  keep  sober  on  a  starving  stomach.  No :  they  took  it  for 
granted,  —  God  bless  them  for  it !  —  that  I  meant  to  be  honest, 
that  I  was  sincere  in  my  desire  to  reform.  They  acted  on  the 
glorious  plan,  that  faith  begets  faith,  that  trust  breeds  strength. 
And  I  am  glad  and  proud  to  say,  that  their  goodness  and  wis- 
dom were  not  thrown  away  upon  me.  Arrangements  were  im- 
mediately made  for  me  to  deliver  a  lecture ;  and  the  streets  of 
Providence  were  strewn  with  handbills  and  posters  announcing 
that  "Thomas  N.  Doutney,  the  reformed  drunkard  and  rum- 
seller,  would  deliver  a  temperance  lecture,  relating  his  sad  and 
terrible  experience  with  the  demon  Alcohol,  in  Harrington's 
Opera  House,  Snnday  evening,  Oct.  12, 1873."  The  admission- 
fee  was  placed  at  ten  cents,  and  my  new-found  brothers  worked 
with  a  previously  unheard-of  energy.  The  result  was,  a  full, 
even  overflowing  house  on  that  Sunday  evening.  Under  such 
circumstances,  with  such  encouragement,  need  it  be  said  that 
the  lecture  was,  as  a  lecture,  a  success,  —  such  a  success  that 
I  was  requested  to  repeat  it  ? 

I  did  repeat  it,  and  with  the  most  satisfactory  results  to  all 
concerned.  My  audience  was  pleased  ;  my  friends  were  de- 
lighted ;  my  benefactor,  Mr.  Ferrin,  was  in  ecstasies.  I  myself 
felt  happier  than  ever  before  in  my  life  j  and  the  cause  of  tern- 


420  IdY  SECOND  LECTURE. 

peranco  —  next  to  religion  tho  noblest  cause  on  earth  (in  fact,  a 
most  important  part  of  n^ligion  itself)  —  was,  I  trust,  materially 
advanccil.  At  this  accond  lecture  tho  officers  of  tho  various 
temperance  societies  which  I  had  recently  joined,  and  others, 
appeared  on  tho  platfonn  with  mo  in  full  iegalia.  It  was  a 
memorable  occasion  of  my  life,  —  this,  my  second  successful  tem- 
perance lecture.  Somehow  it  has  impressed  my  memory  even 
more  strongly  than  my  first.  The  audience,  for  one  thing, 
was  larger  ;  and  then,  I  had  grown  more  accustomed  to  public 
speaking,  and  had  more  confidence  in  myself. 

When  I  looked  beside  me,  and  saw  my  new-found  friends 
and  brethren  seated  all  around  me,  I  felt  encouraged  by  their 
presence  to  stand  steadfast;  and  I  felt  myself  growing  stronger 
and  stronger  to  do  battle  for  the  right. 

And,  when  I  looked  at  the  vast  audience  in  the  hall,  I  felt 
assured  and  confident;  for  were  we  not  all  united  iu  love  and 
desire  for  the  greatest  earthly  good,  —  temperance,  a  soujid 
mind  in  a  sound  body? 

And  though  my  speech  might  be  lacking  in  the  gi'aces  of 
polished  oratory,  though  I  was  keenly  alive  to  my  own  defi- 
ciencies, yet  I  felt,  I  knew,  that  I  had  the  good  will  and  the 
sympathy  of  my  audience ;  and  that  conviction  will  impart 
energy,  and  will  almost  supply  tlie  place  of  oratory,  to  any 
man  who  has  the  slightest  claim  to  be  regarded  as  a  public 
speaker. 

And  I  could  not  but  think  of  the  difference  between  my 
friends  here,  listening  to  my  words  now,  and  the  so-called 
"  friends  "  (?)  of  my  former  and  dissipated  days.  My  temper- 
ance friends  were  really  anxious  for  my  spiritual  and  bodily 
prosperity,  desirous  that  I  should  do  my  duty  to  God,  man, 
and  myself.  But  as  for  my  "fast"  friends  of  the  "social 
glass,"  my  drinking  companions,  what  cared  they  for  aught  but 
the  general  or  "social"  iudulgeuce  of  the  hour? 


MY  LITTLE  HOOK.  421 

Yes ;  for  a  while  I  felt  satisfied  with  my  new  world  and  now 
life,  and  confidcit  of  myself,  as  well  as  grateful,  I  truKt,  to 
Pleaveu.  But  the  ro-action  inseparable  from  my  excitement 
came ;  and,  although  I  had  pleased  my  own  immediate  circle, 
I  found  that  I  was  still  regarded  with,  under  the  oircumstuuces 
not  unnatural,  suspicion  by  the  temperance  world  at  large. 

Through  the  infiuence  of  dear,  kind  brother  Fcrrin,  and 
other  friends,  I  obtained,  on  the  prestige  of  my  two  successful 
lectures,  occasional  engagements  to  lecture  outside  of  Provi- 
dence, among  the  small  towns  of  Rhode  Island ;  but  these 
engagements  were  few,  and  far  between,  and  not  very  lucra- 
tive nor  satisfactory.  Even  a  "reformed  drunkard"  has  to 
live,  and  needs  boots  and  clothes  and  food  and  hjdging ;  and 
every  one  of  these  needs  costs,  and  requires  cash  or  credit. 

At  this  juncture,  my  funds  being  at  ebb-tide,  and  not  being 
disposed  to  be  a  burden  to  my  friends,  or  an  object  of  charity, 
J  determined  to  fall  back  upon  my  recent  experience  as  a  bonk- 
canvnsser,  and  with  this  difference,  —  which  I  trusted  would  be 
an  improvement,  —  I  determined  to  canvass  for  and  sell  a  book 
in  which  I  had  a  proprietary  interest  myself,  instead  of  a  book 
the  greater  part  of  the  profit  on  which  went  to  others,  —  in 
short,  to  canvass  and  sell  my  own  book,  —  my  own  biography. 

I  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  a  book,  —  the  history  of  my. 
own  life,  —  and  hastily  put  together  a  few  "  notes  "  of  my 
career,  from  which  I  compiled  a  book  which  answered  my  pur- 
poses for  a  while,  and  has  formed  the  foundation  of  the  present 
volume.  I  commenced  canvassing  for  this  work  with  moderate 
results. 

And  here  I  must  tell  a  story,  —  a  story  which  is  creditable 
to  all  parties  concerned,  though  scarcely  credible. 

Of  course,  I  could  do  nothing  in  my  book-line  till  /  had  got 
my  printer.  But  how  was  I  to  get  my  printer  ?  Printers  are 
eminently  practical,  and  demand  money  for  type  and  paper; 


422  MY  PRINTERS. 

and  their  idea  of  "  money  "  generally  takes  the  form  of  "  cash 
down,"  and  I  had  no  "cash"  to  "down."  That's  just  what 
was  the  matter. 

But  Heaven  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.  After 
meeting  various  rebuffs,  an  idea  seized  me,  for  which  I  can  never 
be  too  grateful  for  having  acted  upon. 

One  day,  being  in  Boston,  I  entered  the  office  of  Messrs. 
Rand,  Avery,  &  Co.,  printers,  —  one  of  the  oldest  printing- 
houses  in  America,  — and  saw  one  of  the  managing-men  of  the 
concern,  Mr.  Avery  L.  Rand.  Without  any  preliminaries  I  told 
him  who  I  was,  —  Thomas  N.  Doutney,  a  reformed  drunkard, 
a  converted  rum-seller,  a  temperance  advocate,  who  had  writ- 
ten his  own  life,  and  wanted  to  have  it  published,  he  hoping 
to  be  able  to  live  upon  the  proceeds  of  the  biography  when 
published. 

I  also  told  him,  with  equal  frankness,  that  I  had  no  money, 
not  a  dollar  that  I  could  spare  just  then,  —  not  a  dollar  but 
what  the  book  itself  might  bring  in.  All  that  I  could  do  was 
to  promise,  on  my  word  of  honor,  that,  if  he  did  print  my  MSS. 
for  me,  I  would  devote  myself  night  and  day  to  canvassing  for 
the  book,  and  selling  it,  and  would  live  upon  next  to  nothing 
till  I  had  paid  him  out  of  the  proceeds. 

It  was  all  I  had  to  offer;  and  this  offer  from  a  stranger 
would  have  been,  on  sound  business  grounds,  regarded  as 
utterly  unworthy  of  serious  consideration.  I  fully  expected 
that  my  proposition  and  my  manuscript  would  be  "  declined," 
and  without  "  thanks."  But  to  my  unbounded  surprise,  and  my 
lasting  gratitude,  my  almost  desperate  and  despairing  offer  was 
accepted.  Mr.  Rand  promised  to  forthwith  publish  my  book ; 
and  he  forthwith  published  it,  —  in  as  good  style  as  if  it  had 
been  a  first-class  paying  joL. 

Ah,  reader!  there  is  sontething  good  in  human  nature  after 
all,  and   unexpected  deeds  of  kindness  are   forever  making 


CANVAfiSING  FOR  MY  BOOK.  423 

earth  better  and  brighter.  I  shall  never  forget  the  almost 
unexampled  liberality  of  Messrs.  Rand,  Avery,  &  Co. 

But  I  am  glad  to  say,  that  I  honestly  tried  to  be  not  un- 
worthy of  their  generosity.  Without  going  into  further  details 
regarding  my  little  book,  I  may  here  state,  that,  as "  soon  as  it 
was  published,  I  "took  hold  of  it"  —  in  the  canvassing  sense  — 
with  vigor,  and  that,  as  fast  as  I  sold  copies  of  the  book,  I  hied 
me  to  the  office  of  my  noble  printers,  and  handed  them  the 
money,  until  I  had  cancelled  at  least  the  pecuniary  debt ;  though 
I  never  expect;  nor  ever  wish,  to  be  able  to  free  myself  from 
my  obligations  of  gratitude. 

After  thoroughly  canvassing  for  ray  book,  I  maJe  up  my 
mind,  that,  as  I  had  previously  travelled  around  for  intem- 
perance, I  would  now  change  the  programme,  and  travel  for 
Temperance.  Then  I  visited  several  places  in  Connecticut, 
meeting  with  varied  and  generally  indifferent  success ;  for, 
being  totally  unknown  and  unheralded,  my  audiences  were 
small.  Working  in  this  State  for  several  weeks,  and  meeting 
with  but  poor  financial  success,  I  found  myself  in  New  Haven 
penniless ;  and  I  began  to  grow  despondent.  Here  I  again 
found  a  friend  in  the  person  of  Elder  Marvin  W.  Lutz,  who 
substantially  aided  me.  He  said  that  some  one  had  spoken  of 
me  to  him  ;  and,  seeing  that  I  needed  clothing,  he  supplied  me 
in  this  respect,  giving  me  a  fine  overcoat,  underclothing,  shirts, 
and  brought  me  to  the  house  of  Charles  F.  Hotchkiss,  Esq., 
where  be  himself  resided,  treating  me,  a  stranger,  as  one  of  the 
family.  Such  kindness  needs  no  comment.  This  gentleman 
who  thus  befriended  me,  like  all  of  us  poor  mortals,  has  his 
friends  and  his  enemies,  and  has  been  alike  severely  assailed 
and  warmly  indorsed ;  but,  be  it  as  it  may,  he  showed  that  he 
had  a  heart  that  could  sympathize  with  distress ;  and  I  from  my 
heart's  innermost  depths  thank  him  for  his  kindness,  and  feel 
that  I  am  under  the  warmest  obligations  to  him.    An  oppor- 


424  FISST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  WASHINGTON. 

tunity  now  unexpectedly  presented  itself  for  me  to  lecture 
before  the  "  Sons  of  Jonadab,"  in  Washington,  D.C. ;  and, 
money  being  furnished  me  to  defray  my  expenses,  thither  I 
went.  On  my  way  to  that  city  of  "magnificent  distances" 
(and  'tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view),  before  I 
came  in  sight  of  the  dome  of  the  Capitol,  my  imagination  took 
wings,  and  soared  away.  This,  I  thought  in  my  simplicity,  is 
the  fountain-head  of  learning  and  of  wisdom  ;  here  are  assem- 
bled the  patriotic  and  pure  of  our  country,  to  enact  laws  for  the 
common  good ;  here  no  corruption  or  bribery  would  dare  to 
enter ;  and  here  is  our  tower  of  strength  and  our  bulwark  of 
safety.  I  felt  almost  as  if  I  were  approaching  holy  ground  ;  and, 
when  fairly  within  the  sacred  precincts,  I  took  my  carpet-bag, 
and  started  for  my  hotel.  But,  alas  I  here,  as  elsewhere,  I  saw 
the  saloon-doors  open,  the  same  old  crowd  reeling  in  with  the 
same  blasphemous  oaths  ;  and  I  wondered  if  any  of  this  class  of 
people  were  our  law-makers.  I  had  travelled  much  previously, 
but  had  never  been  a  Congressman  nor  a  companion  of  Con- 
gressmen ;  yet  I  said  to  myself,  If  here,  under  the  very  shadow 
of  our  Capitol,  intemperance  can  raiiie  its  hydra  head,  and  be 
allowed  to  sting  its  victims,  what  hope  is  there  for  our  holy 
cause  ?  If  the  intellect  and  brains  of  the  land  do  nut  work  to 
abolish  it,  what  can  a  poor  reformed  drunkard  like  myself  do 
towards  suppressing  it  ?  It  seemed  to  me  then  an  interminable 
task,  and  I  well-nigh  lost  courage.  I  did  not  know  then  that 
God  in  his  wisdom  takes  the  foolish  things  of  this  earth  to  con- 
found the  wise,  and  that  the  humblest  worker  in  the  good 
cause,  resolved  to  do  his  best,  can  accomplish  more  than  "  all 
that  learning,  all  that  wealth,  e'er  gave."  On  reaching  my 
hotel  (which,  by  the  way,  was  a  temperance  house),  I  felt 
calmer;  and  my  lecture  came  off  in  Jonadab  Hall,  under  tho 
best  of  auspices.  I  remained  in  this  city  about  a  month,  during 
which  time  I  quite  frequently  visited  the  House  and  Senate, 


■    ''nABLES     TefNEB.       '>  425 

and  heard  the  lions  roar.  There  I  saw  Sumner,  and  little 
thought  that  a  few  shoi^  months  would  find  him  moulder- 
ing in  the  grave.  But  such  is  lu'e,  and  death  is  the  great 
leveller. 

George  Alfred  Townsend,  the  famous  correspondent  "  Gath," 
thus  writes  of  Sumner  in  his  very  readable  book  entitled  "  Wash- 
ington Outside  and  Inside :  "  — 

No  sketch  of  men  of  mark  in  Washington  woukl  be  complete 
without  Charles  Sumner.  He  resided  there  for  many  yeara,  in  a 
pleasant  new  residence,  at  the  corner  of  H  Street  and  Vermont 
Avenue.  His  dwelling  below  stairs  was  a  pair  of  salons,  tastefully 
and  copiously  filled  with  busts,  engravings,  books,  and  articles  of 
virtu. 

Many  visitors  have  penetrated  into  this  senatorial  labyrinth ;  but 
few  have  had  opportunities  to  estimate  the  pleasantness  of  his  din- 
ners, enlivened  and  made  cheerful  by  a  host  who  long  ago  accepted 
the  English  mode  of  living,  —  to  save  the  day  for  stint  and  work,  and 
to  resign  the  evening  to  good  cheer. 

On  the  second  floor,  in  one  very  large  and  nearly  square  room, 
lighted  by  windows  on  two  sides,  Mr.  Sumner  sits  at  a  large  table ; 
a  drop-light  bringing  into  clear  yet  soft  relief  his  large  and  imposing 
stature,  strong  face,  great  wave  of  hair ;  and,  incased  in  his  dressing- 
gown  and  shppers,  he  looks  like  Forrest's  delineation  of  Richelieu, 
recreating  at  play-writing. 

It  has  been  said  of  Mr.  Sumner,  that  he  has  not  a  patient  temper, 
that  he  is  uncompromising,  and  that  he  is  impracticable.  The  second 
of  tiiese  distinctions  does  him  honor ;  he  is  never  disturbed  except 
upon  leading  questions  ;  and,  after  twenty  years  in  the  Senate,  he  is 
still  heard  to  debate  at  rare  times,  and  is  always  heard  with  the 
keenest  interest  by  all. 

Not  a  particle  of  his  life  has  been  wasted.  As  to  his  want  of 
practicability,  the  progress  of  the  nation  of  which  he  has  been  the 
ideal  let  der,  in  its  better  elements,  for  twenty  years,  disproves  the 
shallow  assumption.     Since  he  left  Harvard  College,  in  1830,  he  has 


426  MCDOUGAL  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

passed  the  gamut  of  all  the  practical  workshops  through  which  a 
senator  should  go.  At  the  age  of  twenty- two  he  took  charge  of  the 
"American  Jurist,"  and  edited  it  with  the  keen  eye  of  a  natural 
lawyer.  While  pursuing  his  legal  practice  in  Boston,  between  the 
agep  0.''  twenty-two  and  twenty-six,  he  was  the  reiwrter  of  the  United- 
States  Circuit  Court,  and  teacher  in  the  Cambridge  Law  School.  In 
1807  be  went  abroad,  and  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  the  best  and  most 
experienced  in  public  life.  Returning  in  1840,  he  edited  "  V^sey's 
Ileports,"  in  twenty  volumes;  and  thenceforward,  for  eleven  years, 
until  his  election,  at  one  bound,  from  private  life  to  the  United-States 
Senate,  Mr.  Sumuer  was  the  beau  ideal  of  the  State  as  an  orator  and 
leader ;  he  rose  direct  from  a  private  citizen  of  Massachusetts  to  be 
her  senator,  in  place  of  Webster,  and  at  the  age  of  forty.  The 
people  of  Washington  have  known  more  or  less  for  twenty-one  years 
of  Mr.  Sumner. 

And  as  a  man  pre-eminently  of  temperate  habits,  a  man  who 
kept  his  appetites  in  subjection,  Charles  Sumner  deserved  special 
attention  and  commendation. 

Contrast  Sumner's  career  with  that  of  McDougal  of  Cali- 
fornia ;  and  yet  the  latter  was,  in  natural  parts,  fully  the  equal 
of,  if  not  superior  to,  the  former.  Mr.  Townsend,  in  his  book, 
remarks, — 

A  brilliant  man,  of  evil  habits,  in  his  day  was  James  A.  McDougal 
of  Californiar  who  died  in  1867.  He  has  left  many  anecdotes  of 
hims"lf  at  Washington,  where  he  is  regarded  as  the  fallen  angel,  the 
superb  ruin,  —  a  sweetly  melancholy  portrait  out  of  decadence,  like 
those  carousing  Romans  painted  by  Couture.  His  desultory  learning 
was  remarkable ;  so  was  the  tenacity  of  his  memory,  the  stronger 
when  his  brain  was  most  aflame  :  and  he  used  to  quote  from  the  Gi'eek 
and  Latin  poets  by  the  page,  steadying  himself  meantime,  a  poor 
old  sot  in  body,  while  his  luminous  intellect  kept  the  bar-rooms  in  a 
thriU. 

There  is  a   restaurant  near   the  Capitol  where  ^hey  still  show 


"  THE  BRIGHTEST  INTELLECT  IN  CONGRESS."        427 

McDoiignl's  (log,  a  inilk-white  mongrel,  with  the  fawning  habits  still 
left,  in  wliich  he  waa  humored  by  its  roaster.  Like  Lis  memory,  it  is 
most  vivid  and  familiar  with  bar-keepers  and  taveru-loiterera ;  and 
they  say  witii  some  vanity,  — 

"  Knows  tha' dorg  ?  " 

"No." 

"That's  Senator  McDoiigal's  favo-rite  purp." 

McDougal  used  to  feign  great  knowledge  of  the  smnll-sword  ;  and 
an  Irishman  or  Scotchman  was  in  Washington  during  the  war,  giving 
fencing  lessons  to  the  officers.  One  day  McDougal  dared  him  to  a 
combat  witl.  canes.  They  crossed  a  while ;  and  McDougal,  half- 
drunk,  gave  the  master  a  violent  "  dab  "  on  the  side  of  the  ear  that 
nearly  knocked  him  down. 

The  swordsman  said  to  McDougal,  — 

"  That  was  foul :  now  I  am  going  to  clear  you  out." 

"  Don't  you  touch  that  man,"  cried  a  vagrant  Irishman  loitering 
near,  who  had  heard,  perhaps,  through  the  tavern  windows,  some  of 
the  drunken  senator's  didactics.  "  That  man's  a  good  Dimmicratic 
senator  and  a  great  gaynius  :  if  you  hit  him,  I'll  masli  your  nose." 

So  the  wayward  steps  of  the  poor,  lost  old  man  were  upheld  by 
invisible  attendants,  extorted  to  his  service  by  the  charm  and  com- 
mand of  his  talents ;  for,  when  drunkest,  he  was  most  arrogantly 
oracular,  and  did  all  the  talking  himself. 

They  recall,  who  have  ever  heard  them,  Saulsbury  and  McDougal 
together;  the  latter  defining  in  a  wild,  illustrated,  poetic  way  the 
words  "government,"  "law,"  and  "  sovereign,"  pouring  upon  them 
the  wealth  of  his  vagrant  readings,  making  a  mere  definition  gor- 
geous by  his  endowments  of  color,  light,  and  sentiment.  Then  Sauls- 
bury,  shutting  one  eye  to  see  him  fairly,  would  say  with  ludicrous 
pity,— 

"  McDougal,  you've  the  brightest  intellect  in  Congress."  Clutch- 
ing Saulsbury  with  the  grasp  of  a  vise,  and  speaking  to  him  in  a  tone 
of  solemn  warning,  McDougal  would  retort,  "You,  sir,  would  be  the 
brightest  intellect  if  you  would  study." 

At  this  Saulsbury,  in  a  maudlin  way,  falls  to  weeping ;  and  McDou- 


428  Tiro  SENATORS.  '    ' 

gal,  imagining  himself  called  npon  in  thii'  '?ase  to  utter  a  mild  reproach, 
would  conatnict  a  garment  of  sanctity  for  himself :  — 

"Iburntlie  lamp  early  and  late,"  said  McUougal.  "The  rising 
Bun  sees  me  up  already,  laboring  with  the  Muse  of  Homer  (sob  from 
Saulsbury) .  I  reach  down  the  Koran  at  sunrise,  and  read  myself  a 
sublime  lesson,  pilfered,  it  is  true,  from  the  benignant  Brahma,  but 
little  altered,  except  in  the  vernacular.  At  eight  o'clock,  like  Socra- 
tes, I  breakfast  upon  a  fig  and  a  cake  o**  oatmeal :  wine  never  crosses 
these  lips.  Till  ten  o'clock  I  roam  in  my  gardens,  communing  with 
the  mighty  master  of  the  Sadducees  "  (sob  from  Saulsbury). 

Enter  the  bar-keeper  with  the  drinks,  and  the  airy  castle  dissolves. 
'  The  wild  things  done  by  ]McDougal  would  make  a  comedy  fit  for 
Farquhar.  His  entire  mileage  and  pay  he  spent,  taking  little  note 
of  his  family,  making  about  twelve  thousand  dollars  a  year.  He 
died  in  Albany,  near  his  birthplace,  a  victim  to  his  temperament; 
for  he  had  no  grain  of  practical  executive  tact,  and  his  poetic  nature 
made  him  both  the  stature  and  the  wreck  he  was.  The  fire  that  made 
him  brilliant  made  him  also  ashes. 

Can  any  "  temperance  lecture  "  be  more  powerful  than  is  the 
contrast  thus  depicted  between  two  intemperate  great  men,  like 
Saulsbury  and  McDougal,  and  the  temperate  great  man,  like 
Charles  Sumner? 

How  much  better  would  it  have  been  for  him,  and  for  his 
country,  had  "  Tom  "  Marshall  been  a  non-di-inker,  and  "  Dick  " 
Yates,  and  even  Daniel  Webster  himself  I  .-;.,',,    '.  ■ 

,  Intemperance  is  the  great  curse  and  danger  of  our  public 
men.  It  came  near  being  the  personal  as  well  as  political  ruin 
of  the  foremost  man  of  our  time,  General  and  President  Grant. 
And,  with  all  his  faults  and  weakness,  President  Hayes's  memory- 
will  always  be  held  in  lasting  honor  for  his  firm  stand  against 
intoxication  and  intemperance  in  Washington. 

Look  at  the  example  set  by  Henry  Wilson,  the  illustrious 
shoemaker  rmd  senator,  who  would  as  readily  have  stolen  as 


"HE  NEITHER  DRINKS  NOR  SMOKES."  489 

drank,  and  compare  his  career  and  character  with  that  of 
another  lueaiber  of  Congress,  the  "  Hon. "  John  Morrissey, 
"sport  '  and  prize-fighter. 

Drinking-habits  totally  unfit  a  man  for  public  as  well  as  for 
private  business.  This  truth  is  practically  acted  upon  in  that 
most  practical  of  all  the  public  departments,  the  Ti-easury. 
The  responsible  men  connected  with  the  Treasury  I)ei)artnient 
have  never  been  "drinking"  men.  The  country  wouldn't, 
couldnt  stand  it. 

Col.  Whiteley  may  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  the  men  who  are 
connected  responsibly  with  the  United-States  Treasury.  He 
was  at  the  head  of  the  United-States  Treasury  detectives. 
"  Gath  "  thus  pen-paiuted  him :  — 

The  position  which  Col.  Wliitolcy  maintains  is  of  more  import  than 
any  secret  police- agt."  holds  in  the  Union.  He  is  charged  with  all 
the  manifold  and  intricate  offences  against  the  currency  and  ^"  3 
Treasury,  including  counterfeiting,  defalcations,  whiskey  and  tobacco 
frauds.  His  headquarters  are  in  New  York.  His  force  is  distributed 
through  the  Union.  He  is  tall,  wiry,  and  rather  debilitated  ;  a  long, 
pale,  youthful  face,  without  any  worldliness  in  it ;  and  a  sober,  mod- 
est, and  nearly  clerical,  black  dress.  Wliiteky  neither  drinks  nor 
smokes  Whiteley  is  as  much  a  Puritan  as  Mr.  Boutwell  himself. 
With  some  youthful  confidence,  he  is  still  thoughtful  and  perse- 
vering ;  and,  armed  with  the  enormous  power  of  the  Federal  state, 
he  is  not  subject  to  the  restraint.:;  A  cross-jurisdictions  and  State 
laws,  wliich  impede  the  pursuit  of  local  criminals.  He  occupies 
the  whole  field,  and  is  free  from  the  jealous  annoyances  of  police 
rivalry.  ,•)  ,,,  ;,.     .',,■.■;-  -.;.'-   .^v, ':  ■     ■.  ■ :    -,  ■,  < ; 

He  "  neither  drinks  nor  smokes ! "  Be  sure  the  country's 
interests  are  safe  in  the  hands  ox  the  man  of  whom  these  words 
can  truthfully  be  said,  or  at  least  much  safer  than  in  the  hands 
of  one  of  whom  they  could  not  be  said- 


480  BUTLER  AND  GRANT. 

During  my  stay  ir.  Washington  I  called  upon  Gen.,  now 
Gov.,  Butler,  one  of  the  best-abu'ed  and  most  successful  pub- 
lic men  in  the  country.  The  career  of  this  noted  and  notable 
man  has  been  varied  and  unique.  Butler  is  in  all  respects  an 
"original."  Even  his  most  inveterate  personal  or  political 
enemy  will  confess  this  much.  He  is  a  thorough  "man." 
There  is  nothing  of  the  "  milksop,"  nothing  of  the  mere  senti- 
mentalist, about  him.  He  is  as  able  as  he  is  audacious :  his 
most  bitter  foe  will  concede  this.  And  in  private  life  he  is 
very  pleamnt,  even  amiable  when  he  chooses.  I  found  him, 
now  as  evor,  very  cordial  to  me.  He  had  befriended  me  in  my 
earlier  career :  he  was  friendly  to  me  now.  He  purchased  one 
of  my  books,  and,  receiving  me  at  his  private  residence,  treated 
me  very  courteously. 

During  my  stay  in  Washington  I  went  on  Sunday  to  the 
Metropolitan  Church,  of  which  the  Rev.  Dr.  Tiffany  was  pastor. 
This  church  is  one  of  the  "  institutions  "  of  the  capital.  One 
of  the  peculiar  features  of  this  church  is,  that,  like  its  name,  it 
is  truly  "  metropolitan."  There  is  a  seat  in  this  church,  or 
seats,  for  every  State  in  the  Union,  from  Maine  to  California. 
A  stranger  visiting  in  Washington,  and  entering  Dr.  Tiffany's 
church,  has  only  to  tell  the  usher  what  State  he  is  from,  and  he 
will  find  himself  placed  in  the  pew  allotted  to  his  State ;  and, 
if  there  are  any  of  his  own  State  people  there,  he  will  find 
himself  at  once  among  them,  —  literally  "at  home."  This  is 
an  "  original "  idea,  and  is  worthy  of  imitation.  Gen.  Grant 
and  family  often  worshipped  at  this  church. 

Apropos  of  Grant :  before  leaving  Washington  for  Baltimore, 
I  called  upon  the  General-President  at  the  White  House.  I 
devised  means  to  have  him  know  that  I  was  a  reformed  man ; 
and  on  the  Hth  of  February,  1874,  between  the  hours  of  twelve 
and  two  (the  "  visiting-hours  "  of  the  White  House),  I  was 
permitted,  in  my  turn,  with  others,  to  pay  my  respects  to,  and 


FROM  BOSTON   TO  NSW  TOTIK.  481 

shake  hands  with,  the  sorcreign  ruler  of  those  free,  aiul  forever 
to  be  free,  United  States.  Gea.  Grant  received  me  kindly,  but, 
as  usual,  said  nothing. 

I  then  took  the  train  for  Bal  imore ;  pnd,  on  the  same  even- 
ing, I  again  raised  my  voice  for  temperance  in  the  Aiaquith 
street  Methodist-Episcopal  Church  in  Baltimore,  leaving  for 
Boston  via  New  York  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MY  SECOND  T-ECTrnK  IN  THE  TIIKMONT  TKMri-E. — I  VINDICATE  MT  CAUSE, 
AND  BEDKKM  MY  FAILUKE.  —  I  LECTURE  AT  BTEINWAY  IIALL,  NKW 
YORK. — AND  I  I'KDni,K  MY  OWN  TICKKT8  FOR  MY  I.KX'TIJHE.  —  EXTRACTS 
FROM  MY  FIRST  ROOK  AND  MY  EARLIER  LECTURES.  —  WORUH  OF  ADVICE, 
WARNING,   AND  CONSOLATION. 

On  my  arrival  in  Boston  I  immediately  called  on  my  friend 
and  benefactor,  E.  II.  Sheafc,  Esq.,  then  editor  and  proprietor 
of  "  The  Temperance  Album,"  who  arranged  for  me  to  lecture 
again  in  Tremont  Temple,  Sunday  evening,  March  22,  1874. 

I  accepted  this  arrangement  gladly,  triumphantly;  for  I 
wanted  to  succeed  here,  as  a  lecturer,  where  I  had  previously 
failed.  And  I  wanted  to  redeem  my  fall  after  my  failure.  I 
wished  to  show  the  good  people  of  Boston  that  I  had  truly 
reformed ;  that,  through  the  grace  of  God,  I  was  strong  where 
I  had  been  weak.  I  wished  to  show,  that  though,  since  my  last 
and  first  lecture  in  Tremont  Temple,  I  had  inflicted  disgrace 
upon  myself,  and  shame  upon  the  temperance  cause,  by  my 
yielding  to  Rum,  I  had  wiped  out  the  disgrace,  and  atoned  for 
the  shame,  by  my  recovery  and  reformation. 

My  wish  was  gratified.  I  delivered  this,  my  second  lecture 
in  the  Tremont  Temple,  on  the  theme  of  "  my  experience,"  to 
an  overflowing  house,  by  which  I  was  most  kindly,  nay,  enthu- 
siastically, received.  Congratulation  upon  congratulation  was 
showered  upon  me,  and  even  thosfl  who  had  predicted  my 
downfall  again,  were  the  first  to  welcome  me.  My  hand  was 
shaken  till  it  was  nearly  powerless,  and  my  heart  was  full  of 

432 


LECTUniXn   AROUND  NEW  YOIiK,  488 

pride  and   pratitnde.     Thus  ended  my  second  appearance  in 
Boston  and  (he  Treniont  Temple. 

Every  day  now  I  cimld  feci  I  was  gaining  new  strength.  I 
had  come  back  to  the  very  city  where  I  had  been  widely 
known  as  a  rum-seller,  and  had  found  a  host  of  friends,  who 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  and  forgiven  my  past,  and  to  liope 
and  believe  in  my  future.  I  thanked  the  great  Giver  of  all 
good  for  his  kindness  to  me,  and  inwardly  resolved  to  be  still 
more  worthyiof  such  friendship  and  such  love. 

Never  shall  I  forget  this  loving  friendship;  the  kind  deeds 
of  brother  Sheafe  and  his  associates  linger  tenderly  in  my  heart. 

EncouragcMl  by  my  success  in  Hoston,  I  departed  to  New 
York  upon  a  lecture-tour,  throiigh  New- York  State  and  New 
Jersey. 

Arriving  in  the  metropolis,  I  met  my  brothers;  and,  thank 
God  I  this  time  I  met  ihem  sober.  I  could  take  their  hands  and 
receive  their  warm  greeting  as  an  honest  and  a  temperate  man.. 
They  would  never  again  be  compelled  to  blush  for  my  condi- 
tion. My  brothers  were  more  tlian  ever  delighted  to  see  me^ 
and  congratulated  me  over  and  over  again  on  my  good  resolves, 
and  my  better  reformation. 

After  the  re-union  I  proceeded  to  business,  and  lectured  with 
tolerable  success  in  some  of  the  suburban  towns.  I  thea^ 
naturally  asked  myself,  "  Why  should  I  not  lecture  in  the- 
metropolis  itself?  " 

Seeing  no  earthly  reason  why  I  should  not,  and  seeing 
several  reasons  why  I  should,  I  at  once  entered  into  arrange- 
ments with  the  New-York  branch  of  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association,  and  under  their  auspices  lectured  in  some- 
local  halls,  then  in  some  of  the  Methodist  churches,  and  finally 
in  the  Church  of  the  Disciples,  under  Rev.  Dr.  Ilepworth. 

After  this  I  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  make  "a  grand' 
demonstration  "  in  the  very  heart  of  New  York ;  and  for  that 


484  AT  HTEINWAY  HALL. 

purpoHe  I  hired  Stuiiiwny  Hnll,  detemiiiiiiig  to  "  put  in  an 
ftpi)t'uraiic()  "  ill  tlio  vorv  fiiiertt  lectiu-o-lmll  in  thu  niutropolis. 
Stuiiiwiiy  Hall  in  a  lasting  niununiunt  ut'  enterprise,  liberality, 
and  BUcceHH,  and  iH  typieal  of  the  enterprise,  lilterality,  and 
suoceBrt  of  the  world-renowned  tirni  that  erected  it,  which 
embracoa  the  leading  piano-nnikern  of  the  world. 

I  had  bnt  little  ready  money ;  but  the  Steinways  were  very 
kind,  —  as  they  are  in  all  deserving  cases,  —  and  put  thereat 
BO  low  that  I  could  see  a  chance,  under  all  circunistanceM,  to  at 
least  "get  even"  with  my  expenses. 

Stoinway  Hall  being  thus  secured,  I  was  advertised  as  ex- 
tensively—  though  as  cheaply  —  as  possible,  in  handbills,  etc., 
to  lecture  on  "  my  experience  "  with  intemperance,  on  Sunday 
evening,  May  8,  1874. 

But  lioio"luck"  was  against  me.  It  so  hajipcned,  that  u 
-celeb. ated  temperance  lecturer  was  advertised  to  speak  else- 
where in  the  city  that  same  Sunday  evening.  And  it  further 
■chanced,  that  there  was  to  be  a  grand  temperance  mass-meeting 
at  Rev.  Dr.  Hcpworth's  church  that  very  evening.  Either  of 
these  "attractions"  would  have  seriously  conflicted  with  my 
lecture,  but  botli  together  threatened  to  swamp  me  altogether. 

Rut,  as  my  readers  have  probably  learned  by  this  time,  I  am 
a  man  not  easily  "swamped."  I  buckled  on  my  armor;  or,  less 
figuratively  speaking,  I  tackled  my  work  in  earnest.  I  saw  at 
■once  that  my  only  hope  was  in  personal  exertion.  It  would 
not  do  to  trust  to  the  "  public  interest "  in  my  lecture.  I  would 
have  to  create  a  personal  and  pecuniary  interest  in  ni3'self.  It 
would  not  do  to  sit  still,  and  trnst  to  having  the  public  come 
to  me  to  buy  tickets  for  my  lecture.  No :  I  would  have  to 
move  about,  and  go  to  the  public,  and  sell  tickets  for  myself. 
It  was  not  pleasant,  certainly;  it  was  infra  d'ignitaiim,  perhaps ; 
but  it  was  absolutely  necessary.  So  I  set  to  woik  aud  did  that 
necessary  thing.  ■      ■  #    '  "' 


TU'KKT-PKliLEU   A  SI)   IKCTVUKR.  485 

I  took  my  (ickots  in  niv  liiiiid,  and  soiun  of  my  Imndbills  and 
booku,  and  poddlod  my  books  and  ticketH  in  tlio  Htrcots  of  New 
York  up  to  within  two  honvH  of  iny  delivering  my  lecture. 
Yen;  and  I  take  2)ndo  now  in  recordin^^  the  fact.  I  look  back 
upon  it  with  satisfaction,  —  a  «ati«faction  I  trust  and  believe 
my  worthy  readers  will  share  with  me. 

For  this  fact  proves  beyond  r  peradventure,  that  there  wns 
some  ♦' stuff"  in  mo  as  a  man,  after  all.  I  had  binned  and 
fallen  as  a  n)an,  alas !  but  I  was  willing  and  anxious  to  rise 
and  atone,  and  work  for  my  atonement  atul  my  own  honest 
living,  as  a  man.  And  so  I  record  tliO  fa.;t  of  my  being  "ticket- 
pe<ller  "  with  (piite  as  much  pride  as  I  do  the  being  "  lecttner." 

I  succeeded  fairly  with  my  peddling,  but  still  I  found  tho 
hall  not  over  one-tenth  full  when  the  hour  for  my  lecture  ar- 
rived. This  was  discouraging,  but  it  eonld  not  be  helped.  T 
had  done  my  best  as  an  agent,  a  ticket-seller ;  let  mo  now  do 
my  best  as  a  speaker ;  let  me  at  least  try  to  do  justice  to  my 
cause,  —  the  noblest  cause,  the  best  subject  for  a  lecture,  on  the 
face  of  God's  green  earth,  —  temperance.  I  felt  sure  of  at  least 
one  group  of  sympathizers  and  indorsers ;  for  my  brothers  and 
some  intimate  fi-iends  were  among  my  audience,  and  their  dear 
hearts  were  inexpressibly  gratified  to  see  and  hear  me  openly 
and  boldly  espouse  the  temperance  cause. 

And  probably  here  is  the  fitting  place  for  me  to  give  my 
readers  some  idea  of  the  sentiments  I  propounded  in  my  lec- 
tures during  this  the  earlier  period  of  my  career  as  a  itublic 
speaker.  The  subjoined  extracts  will  gratify  my  readers' 
natural  curiosity  on  this  point,  and  will  also  afford  them  a  fair 
sample  of  my  first  "  book,"  to  which  I  have  been  alluding,  into 
which  these  extracts  were  incorporated.      ■  '   ' 

Speaking  of  "moderate  drinking,"  so  called,  I  remarked,  "In 
the  first  place,  no  person  ever  becomes  a  drunkard  of  a  sudden. 
The  first  taste  of  liquor  is  generally  repulsive,  and  the  person 


486  MODERATE  DRINKERS. 

taking  it  almost  involuntarily  shrinks  from  it.  But  by  degrees 
the  terrible  appetite  is  acquired;  and,  when  once  fastened 
upon  its  victim,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  shake  it  off.  The 
moderate  drinker  is  the  embryo  drunkard.  He  may  rejoice 
in  his  strength,  and  boast  that  he  can  take  it,  or  let  it  alone ; 
and  perhaps  at  that  particular  time  he  can :  but  the  time  will 
come  when  the  shackles  will  bind  him  more  closelj',  and  he 
will  see  no  escape.  Oh,  what  a  curse  to  the  world  are 
these  same  moderate  drinkers !  The  youth,  jus*;  starting  in 
life,  sees  them  apparently  successful,  and  boasting  of  their 
ability  to  restrain  their  appetites,  and  says,  '  Oh !  I  will  drink, 
and  become  a  moderate  drinker,  and  then  I  can  enjoy  the  good 
things  of  this  life  without  fear  or  reproach;'  but,  young  man, 
the  thousands  of  wrecks  that  are  strewn  along  the  sea  of  life 
are  bat  typical  of  yourself.  All  started  prosperously,  and  for  a 
while  favoring  breezes  hied  them  to  their  destined  port.  This 
moderate  drinker  in  a  short  time  went  down  beneath  the 
waters,  and  the  waves  of  oblivion  closed  over  him.  This  other 
one,  with  shattered  hulk  and  tattered  sails,  may  yet  float  the 
waters,  '  but  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence.'  They  are  all 
wrecks !  There  is  no  such  a  thing  as  moderate  drinking.  It  is 
a  misnomer.  The  spell  it  throws  around  its  victims  is  only  to 
destroy.  Show  me  a  moderate  drinker,  and  ask  me  to  point 
out  his  future.  What  are  the  chances  ?  Are  they  in  favor  of 
long  life,  health,  and  prosperity?  By  no  means!  but  rather 
of  the  opposite,  from  bad  to  worse ;  a  ruined  reputation,  and 
•  the  loss  of  all  that  is  good  and  holy.  In  the  course  of  my 
short  life  I  have  one  case  of  many  in  view,  which  fully  illus- 
trates the  truth  of  these  remarks.  A  young  man  of  noble 
deecput  and  fine  abilities  at  an  early  age  commenced  sipping 
his  wine,  and  laughed  at  the  idea  that  he  could  become  a  com- 
mon drunkard.  It  Avas  preposterous  :  liquor  only  inspired  him, 
and  did  him  no  harm.    A  few  years  passed  on ;  and,  his  father 


GAY  COMPANIONS.  437 

meeting  with  reverses  in  business,  he  was  thrown  out  upon  the 
world  to  earn  his  own  livelihood  ;  and  the  habit  acquired  in 
his  affluence  still  clung  to  him  in  his  poverty,  without  the 
means  of  gratifying  it.  What  was  the  consequence?  He 
took  to  stronger  drink,  and  squandered  his  manhood ;  and  to- 
day a  simple  gravestone  marks  the  resting-place  of  one  who 
in  a  few  short  years  had  sowed  the  wind,  and  reaped  the  whirl- 
wind. And  yet  he  trusted  in  his  own  strength.  Alas !  how 
many  thousands  have  done  the  same,  and  gone  the  same  way ! 
In  total  abstinence  alone  is  safety :  there  is  no  half-way  ground 
between  temperance  and  intemperance.  The  one  is  altogether 
beneficial,  the  other  damnable.  And  let  the  young  man,  ere 
he  drinks  his  first  glass,  stop  and  ask,  '  Where  may  this  not 
lead  me?'  The  silent  guardian  is  whispering  in  his  ear, 
'  Refrain,  refrain  ! '  His  life  hangs  trembling  in  the  balance  ! 
What  will  he  do?  Does  he  start  on  the  flowery  path,  he  is 
lost  in  all  human  probability.  Does  he  dash  it  down,  he  is 
saved ;  for  temperance  destroj- s  none,  its  mission  is  to  save." 
In  regard  to  "social"  drinking,  and  drinking  "friends,"  I 
remarked,  "  The  great  danger  to  the  youthful  voyager  over 
life's  troubled  waters  is  gay  companions.  Let  me  repeat  it 
again,  —  gay  companions.  We  are  influenced  more  or  less  by 
our  surrpundings,  and  like  naturally  attracts  like.  Imitation 
is  a  great  law  of  human  nature.  The  child  delights  in  imitat- 
ing its  parents,  and  children  of  an  older  growth  delight  in  the 
same.  Therefore  I  say  to  the  young  men  of  this  country,  be 
careful  with  whom  you  associate.  He  who  handles  filthy 
matter  will  be  himself  defiled,  and  there  is  no  escape  from  it. 
By  gay  companions  I  mean  those  who  set  at  naught  the  princi- 
ples of  temperance,  and  rejoice  in  being  called  their  own  mas- 
ters ;  who  acknowledge  no  parental  restraint,  and  scoff  at  the 
'old  woman'  or  the  'old  man,'  and  do  just  about  what  they 
want  to.    Such  young  men  are  already  far  advanced  on  the 


438  wnwn  m  tdr  best  wayt 

road  to  infamy.  It  needs  no  prophet  to  predict  their  future. 
Unless  some  merciful  Providence  shall  interpose,  their  doom  is 
sealed.  It  is  an  old  and  trite  saying,  that  '  Hell  is  paved  with 
good  intentions ; '  and  drunkards*  graves  are  filled  to-day  by 
countless  thousands  whose  intentions  were,  doubtless,  good." 

Again,  on  another  branch  of  my  subject  I  recorded  myself 
as  follows :  — 

"  The  great  question  of  to-day  appears  to  be,  How  shall  the 
liquor  traffic  be  put  down  in  the  most  effectual  manner?  The 
law  is  ample  enough  in  New  England  for  its  suppression  ;  but 
so  many  loop-holes  of  escape  are  left  open  for  the  rum-seller, 
that  the  infamous  traffic  continues  almost  without  a  hinderance. 
In  various  parts  of  New  England,  a  few  cities  and  towns, 
through  the  exertions  of  local  authorities,  have  succeeded  in 
almost  totally  suppressing  the  sale  of  the  ardent ;  but,  in  the 
majority  of  places,  the  law  seems  powerless  for  its  suppression. 
Just  as  long  as  there  is  money  to  be  made  in  the  infamous 
business,  the  sale  will  continue,  and  designing  men  will  devise 
means  to  elude  the  strictest  laws.  And  here  the  question 
comes  up  concerning  the  best  method  of  reforming  the  poor 
inebriate  from  his  intemperance.  Moral  suasion  is  powerful, 
and  many  have  been  reclaimed  through  its  soothing  influence. 
A  kindly  word  spoken  at  the  proper  time  has  saved  many 
a  poor,  erring  mortal ;  and  the  prayers  and  labors  or  faithful 
men  and  women  have  not  been  without  avail.  Yet  moral 
suasion,  unaided,  can  only  take  exceptional  cases.  In  prohibi- 
tion alone,  there  is  absolute  saf-^ty.  Could  a  law  be  enacted  to 
suppress  the  manufacture  of  the  vile  stuff,  then  there  would  be 
no  need  of  moral  suasion,  and  prohibition  would  be  an  estab- 
lished fact." 

.  As  regards  alcohol  itself,  in  one  of  my  addresses  I  thus  expa- 
tiated :  —  ■        , 

"Alcohol,  in  its  physiological  aspect,  possesses  three  distinct 


THE  PnrSICAL  DANGERS  OF  ALCOHOL.  439 

properties :  it  has  a  nervine  property,  by  which  it  excites  the 
nervous  system  inordinately,  and  exhilarates  the  brain  ;  it  has  a 
stimulating  property,  by  which  it  excites  the  muscular  system 
and  the  action  of  the  heart  and  blood-vessels ;  it  has  a  narcotic 
property,  the  operation  of  which  is  to  suspend  the  nervous 
energies,  and  soothe  and  stupefy  the  subject.  Says  a  well- 
known  writer,  '  Now,  any  article  possessing  either  one  or  but 
two  of  these  properties,  without  the  other,  is  a  simple,  harm- 
less thing,  compared  with  alcohol.  It  is  only  because  alcohol 
possesses  this  combination  of  properties  by  which  it  operates 
on  various  organs,  and  affects  several  functions  in  different 
ways  at  one  and  the  same  time,  that  its  potency  is  so  dreadful, 
and  its  influence  so  fascinating,  when  once  y^i  appetite  is  thor- 
oughly depraved  by  its  use.  It  excites  and  calms,  it  stimulates 
and  prostrates,  it  disturbs  and  soothes,  it  energizes  and  exhausts, 
it  exhilarates  and  stupefies,  simultaneously.  Now,  what  rational 
man  would  ever  pretend  in  going  through  a  long  coux'se  of 
fever,  when  his  nerves  were  impaired,  his  brain  was  inflamed, 
his  blood  fermenting,  and  his  strength  reduced,  that  he  would 
be  able,  through  all  the  commotion  and  change  of  organism,  to 
govern  his  tastes,  control  his  morbid  cravings,  and  regulate  his 
words,  thoughts,  and  actions  ?  Yet  these  same  persons  will 
accuse,  blame,  and  curse  the  man  who  does  not  control  liis 
appetite  for  alcohol,  while  his  stomach  is  influenced,  blood 
vitiated,  brain  hardened,  nerves  exhausted,  senses  perverted, 
and  all  his  feelings  changed,  by  the  accursed  stuff,  with  which 
he  has  been  poisoning  himself  to  death  piocemeal  for  years, 
and  which  suddenly  and  all  at  once  manifests  its  accumulated 
strength  over  him.  A  man  does  not  come  out  of  the  flames 
of  alcohol,  and  heal  himself,  in  a  day.  It  is  a  struggle,  and 
conflict,  and  woe  ;  but  at  last,  and  finally,  it  is  glorious  vic- 
tory.' Thus  saith  that  ardent  worker  in  the  good  cause, 
Luther  Benson,  Esq.,  of  Indiana,  himself  a  man  that  has  been 


440  ,     "STUMBLING-BLOCKS." 

through  the  fiery  furnace,  and  whose  burning  words  liave  aroused 
the  people  to  a  realizing  sense  of  the  horrors  of  intemperance. 
And  could  the  complete  history  of  any  reformed  drunkard  be 
written,  could  his  secret  thoughts  be  exposed  tu  the  gaze  of 
the  world,  it  would  be  seen  that  reformation  came  only  after  a 
most  desperate  conflict,  in  which  the  foe  stubbornly  disputed 
every  point,  and  the  ground  gained  one  day  was,  perhaps,  lost 
the  next.  God  knows  that  I  myself  have  had  a  bitter  experi- 
ence. jNIoral  suasion  appeared  to  be  powerless  with  me,  and 
the  ena-eatics  and  strivings  of  my  best  friends  only  appeared 
to  make  me  worse.  I  was  a  spoiled  child,  that  needed  the  rod 
fully  us  much  as  good  advice ;  and  I  attribute  my  release,  as 
before  stated,  only  to  some  higher  power." 

On  the  subject  of  the  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  the 
proselytes  to  temperance,  I  once  spoke  as  follows :  — 

"  The  obstacles  placed  in  the  path  of  the  new  proselyte  to  the 
cause  of  temperance  are  mauy,  and  those  desirous  of  his  fall 
surround  him  on  all  sides.  How  bitterly  have  I  experienced 
this!  There  are  always  those  ready  to  help  a  man  on  the 
downward  road,  and  Satan  continually  solicits  his  poor  victim. 
StumbUng-blocks  are  placed  in  the  way ;  and,  for  every  one  that 
falls,  a  yell  of  triumph  is  raised  by  the  fiends  of  darkness.  I 
am  glad  to  see  by  the  daily  papers,  that  Indiana  has  passed  a 
strong  license  law.  If  liquor  cannot,  by  any  possible  means, 
be  done  away  with,  for  Heaven's  sake  let  us  have  the  law  as 
stringent  as  possible  !  By  this  law,  saloon-keepers  are  required 
to  furnish  a  bond  in  two  thousand  dollars,  that  they  will  keep 
orderly  houses,  and  pay  all  fines  and  damages  arising  from 
unlawful  sales  under  the  act.  Licenses  are  denied  to  persons 
in  the  habit  of  becoming  intoxicated.  For  liberty  to  sell  spirit, 
uous  liquors,  a  fee  of  a  hundred  dollars  is  required ;  and,  to  sell 
wine  and  beer,  fifty  dollars  is  demanded.  These  fees  are  to  be 
paid  to  ci  uuty  treasurers,  and  to  them  incorporated  towns  and 


.  BUM  HAS  NO  GRATITUDE.  441 

cities  are  privileged  to  impose  an  additional  hundred  dollars. 
Liquor  caiuiot  be  sold  on  Sundays,  nor  on  holidays  or  election 
days.  Saloons  are  to  be  closed  at  eleven  p.m.,  and  forbidden 
to  be  opened  until  five  A.M.  The  sale  of  liquor  to  persons  in 
the  habit  of  becoming  intoxicated,  after  their  friends  have  pro- 
tested against  it,  is  prohibited.  Selling  to  minors  is  made  a 
penal  offence,  and  the  dispensation  of  adulterated  liquor  is  for- 
bidden. Saloon-keepers  are  made  personally  liable  for  injury 
or  damage  perpetrated  on  account  of  the  use  of  the  liquor  they 
may  sell.  Offenders  against  the  law  are  punished  by  fine  or 
imprisonment.  This,  as  far  as  it  goes,  must  have  a  salutary 
effect ;  but  let  us  hope  that  the  time  will  come  when  licenses 
to  destroy  the  body  as  well  as  the  soul  will  be  among  the  things 
of  the  past.  I  have  never  forgotten  that  I  have  been  a  rum- 
seller  and  rum-drinker,  and  know  from  my  own  experience 
how  callous  the  hearts  of  such  people  become  to  human  want 
and  suffering.  As  long  as  a  man  has  money,  how  cordially  he 
is  welcomed  into  the  bar-room !  how  kindly  the  bar-tender 
greets  him  with  a  pleasant  smile  on  his  face  !  and  how  alert  he 
is  to  hear  every  order,  and  attend  to  it  I  Then  it  is,  '  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  So-and-So ! '  Fviends  crowd  around  him,  and 
congratulate  him  on  his  fine  appearance ;  and  the  poor  sinner 
begins  to  think  that  he  is,  in  truth,  a  person  of  some  conse- 
quence. But  let  adversity  come,  brought  about,  in  all  proba- 
bility, by  the  very  man  that  so  flattered  and  cajoled  him,  and  a 
different  experience  awaits  him.  His  money  gone,  he  is  told  to 
clear  out  of  the  place,  and  not  show  his  face  there  again.  Self- 
respect  and  manly  courage  have  left  him ;  and  he  meekly  sub- 
mits to  insult  and  abuse,  provided  he  caji  obtain  the  stimulants 
his  stomach  so  ardently  craves.  Rum  has  no  gratitude  and  no 
respect.  It  destroys  all  that  is  pure  and  holy  on  the  earth. 
The  brightest  intellects  have  felt  its  power,  and  have  come 
down  to  the  level  of  the  brutes.    A  short  time  ago  I  visited  a 


442  WAIt  AND  INTEMPERANCE. 

neighboring  city ;  and,  ascending  to  the  summit  of  a  lofty  hill, 
I  found  tliereon  a  monument  erected  to  the  memory  of  those 
who  lost  their  lives  in  the  nation's  cause.     Around  its  base  the 
names  of  the  fallen  heroes  were  recorded  in  the  granite,  and 
the  place  was  sacred  to  memory.    And,  as  I  read,  I  pondered 
and  thought,  Wliat  if  a  monument  could  be  raised  to  those 
who  have   fallen   under  the   curse   of  intemperance?    What 
stone  would  be  large  enough  to   contain  the   names?    Well 
might  War  recoil,  and  bow  his  head:  well  might  he  say,  'I 
have  slain  my  million's,  but  thou  thy  tens  of  millions ! '     The 
poor  victims  of  intemperance  have  passed  to  their  doom ;  for 
them  the  tears  of  pity  may  fall,  and  prayers  ascend  to  the 
throne  of  grace  for  the  erring  ones ;  but  nothing  can  call  them 
back  again.     Could  any  of  those  who  have  thus  departed  this 
life  have  been  permitted  to  see  their  future  course,  and  the 
darkness  and  desolation  that,  would  gather  around  it,  how  they 
would  have  shuddered  with  affright !     How  they  would  have 
dashed  the  cup  to  the  earth,  that  was  about  to  ingulf  them, 
and   thanked   God  for  their  deliverance!     How  they  would 
have  hastened  to  retrace  their  steps,  and  warn  their  friends  of 
what  the  result  might  have  been !     And  yet  we  take  no  warn- 
ing.    We  see  the  poor  victims  falling  around  us  like  the  leaves 
■  in  autumn,  and  their  places  are  filled  by  those  who  court  the 
same  doom.     Is  there  no  remedy  to  stay  this  evil?    Must  the 
dark  wave  of  intemperance  continue  to  roll  over  the  land? 
Thank  God,  stout  hearts  are  engaged  in  the  noble  cause  of 
reform,   and  tlie   star  of  promise  gladdens  the   earth!     The 
prayer  of  the  righteous  availeth  much;   and  the  seasons  of 
great  revivals  that  spring  up  in  various  sections  of  our  country 
are  the  answers  to  the  prayers  of  those  good  people  who  desire 
the  salvation  of  their  fellow-men." 

Again,  I  may  here  quote  another  passage  from  one  of  my 
addresses :  — 


THEJiE  IS  A   CHANCE  FOR  ALL.  443 

"I  am  well  aware  that  the  subject  of  temperance  has  for 
many  years  engaged  the  attention  of  enlightened,  benevolent, 
and  wise  minds,  and  that  it  would  be  presumption  in  mo  to 
endeavor  to  state  any  new  facts  in  regard  to  its  havoc  and 
desolation.  Yet  I  have  suffered  from  the  monster's  fangs, 
and  can  speak  from  experience.  Those  who  have  followed  me 
through  this  simple  recital  will  see  that  I  have  not  been  spared, 
and  I  desire  to  add  my  mite  to  the  abundant  testimony  agairvt 
the  tyrant  Alcohol.  I  have  been  completely  under  his  control ; 
and  if,  by  reading  my  miraculous  deliverance  from  his  power, 
any  poor,  struggling,  doubting  soul  should  take  courage,  and 
should  be  led  to  seek  a  higher  life,  I  shall  feel  that  my  work 
has  not  been  in  vain.  And  I  would  say  to  all,  even  the  most 
degraded  and  despairing  drunkard,  that  there  is  a  chance  for 
reformation.  Put  forth  all  your  own  efforts,  and  trust  in  Ilim 
who  taketh  away  the  sins  of  tlie  world.  Bow  before  the  cross 
of  Christ  humbly  and  contritely,  and  he  will  hear  your  cry. 
He  will  not  forsake  you.  Turn  to  the  good  workers  in  the 
temperance  cause,  and  they  will  not  pass  you  by  unheeded. 
Tell  them  your  sorrows,  your  struggles,  your  resolves,  your 
failures,  and  you  will  find  that  tliey  will  stand  by  you  ever 
ready  to  keep  you  from  falling.  Connect  yourself  with  some 
temperance  organization,  and  the  new  associations  will  be 
beneficial.  Avoid  evil  companions,  and  keep  busy  at  some 
useful  occupation.  '  Satan  ever  finds  work  for  idle  hands  to 
do,'  and  idleness  and  intemperance  are  boon  companions.  I 
have  been  a  wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  earth ;  and  were  the 
chance  offered  me  to  go  back  to  my  former  life  of  degradation 
and  shame,  or  to  die,  how  gladly  I  would  embrace  death !  I 
would  welcome  it  as  the  dearest  friend  that  could  come,  for 
intemperance  is  worse  than  death.  The  dead  sleep  well  in  the 
quiet  of  the  grave.  For  them  the  storms  and  tempests  of 
the  earth  have  no  terrors ;  but  a  worse  than  hell  rages  in  the 


444  TRUTHS. 

breast  of  the  (Irunkard,  and  there  is  no  escape.  In  his  tlespair 
he  calls  on  the  mountains  to  fall  on  him,  and  hide  him  from 
the  wrath  to  come ;  but  death  shuns  him,  and  he  lives,  a  curse 
to  himself  and  to  the  world." 

These  extracts  I  have  given  in  this  place,  not  from  egotism, 
but  simply  as  specimens  of  my  lectures  and  my  writings  at 
this  period  of  my  career,  and  especially  because  they  are,  in 
themselves,  expressions  more  or  less  forcible  of  truths, — 
truths  which,  as  a  temperance  man,  a  temperance  advocate, 
and  a  sincere  Christian,  I  would  seek  to  impress  upon  my 
readers. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

MY  liECTUBE-TOUn  THROron  THIB  PINE-TREE  STATE. —THE  PIBST    T'EMPKR- 
AMCE    CAMl'-MKETINO.  —  "A   HAPPY  TIIOUGIIT"     HAPPILY   CAItKIEP    OUT. 

—  PHOUIIU  riON   IN   THEORY   AND   PIIACTICE. — HOW   I   CROSSED    THE    i<  EN- 
NBBBC  THROUGH  THE  ICE. — A  SEVENTY-MII-B  SLEIQU-IUDB  TO  AUGUSTA. 

—  TWO   EXCITING  EPISODES. 

Having  delivered  several  lectures  in  the  places  immediately 
adjacent  to  New  York,  with  fair  success,  I  took  a  wider  flight, 
and,  having  an  opening  offered  me  in  Maine,  eagerly  accepted 
it;  as  I  had  always  had  a  strong  desire  to  visit  the  Pine-tree 
State. 

My  first  public  appearance  as  a  temperance  lecturer  in  Maine 
took  place  in  Portland;  and  on  Monday  evening,  July  13, 1874, 
I  lectured  at  the  Allen  Mission,  which  was  under  the  manage- 
ment of  Capt.  Cyrus  Sturdivant,  the  well-known  temperance 
reformer.  This  Allen  Mission  is  a  most  excellent,  as  well  as 
energetic,  institution,  and  has  accomplished  a  grandly  praise- 
worthy end.  It  is  composed  of  indefatigable  members,  who 
never  tire  in  the  cause  of  morality,  religion,  and  temperance ; 
enthusiastic  meetings  are  held  every  evening ;  and  kind  hands 
and  loving  hearts  are  ever  willing,  nay,  unfeignedly  anxious,  to 
.nttend  to  the  wants  of  sufferers  and  sinners  in  general,  and  the 
intemperate  in  particular.  Many  a  mother's  heart  has  been 
gladdened  by  the  work  of  this  institution,  and  many  a  man  and 
woman  has  been  by  it  reclaimed  from  a  fate  far  worse  than 
death.  Night  after  night  the  hall  in  which  the  Allen-mission 
services  are  held  is  filled  to  repletion,  nor  are  "  the  services  " 
confined  to  the  "  hall "  alone.     The  conductors  of  this  noble 

446 


440  THE  ALLEN  MISSION. 

enterprise,  like  tlieir  diviiio  Master,  do  not  wait  to  be  sought: 
they  go  out  and  Hcarcli  after  the  luifortunato  and  the  erring. 
Tlie  Allen-niisHion  workers  go  about  tlio  streeta,  and  bring  tiie 
wanderers  in. 

Nor  do  the  Allen-mission  workers  merely  pray  and  teach: 
they  clothe  and  feed.  Recognizing  the  fact,  which  so  many 
well-meaning  people  ignore,  that  nnvn  and  woman  are  composed 
of  flesh  and  blood,  as  well  as  of  mind  and  spirit,  they  aim  to 
supply  material  as  well  as  moral  needs:  they  give  food  to  the 
hungry,  and  clothing  to  the  naked,  as  well  as  administer  moral 
and  religious  instruction  to  the  depraved  and  the  dissipated. 
Following  the  example  of  the  ever  blessed,  because  ever  consid- 
erate, Jesus  in  the  wilderness,  who  fed  the  multitude  before  he 
taught  them,  they  attend  to  the  absolutely  needful  wants  of 
the  body  before  appealing  to  the  mind  and  soul.  Would  that 
in  this  respect  they  had  more  imitators. 

Whenever  possible,  the  Allen-mission  members  afford  the 
shelter  of  a  respectable  home  to  those  who  come  within  the 
sphere  of  their  influence;  and  they  furnish  employment  to 
pay  for  the  privileges  of  this  home,  thereby  encouraging  self- 
respect,  and  stimulating  industry. 

Let  me  here  add  my  mite  of  praise  of  him  who  then  con- 
ducted these  meetings,  —  Capt.  Sturdivant.  A  true  gentleman 
in  every  sense  of  that  word,  he  devotes  his  time  and  ability  to 
the  object  dearest  to  his  heart,  and  goes  about  doing  good,  and 
speaking  good  words  to  down-trodden  men.  God  bless  him! 
Would  there  were  more  such  lecturers,  more  such  more  workers, 
more  such  men. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  great  stir  was  made  in  the  New- 
England  States  concerning  a  certain  great  "  temperance  "  camp- 
meeting  that  was  to  follow  the  usual  Methodist  (religious) 
camp-meeting  at  Old-Orchard  Beach.  This  "temperance" 
camp-meeting  idea  was  then  a  new  thing.     This  was  to  be  the 


THE  TKMVEUANCE  CAMP-MKKTINa.  447 

first  "teinpcmnco  cniup-nicetiug "  on  record.  I.iko  nil  new 
things,  its  very  novelty  creatotl  an  unwonted  excitement.  It 
becnmo  the  great  toi)ic  of  talk,  thought,  and  ncwrtpupor  com- 
ment, throughout  the  State.  It  was  to  be  inuler  the  direction, 
chiefly,  of  Francis  Murpliy,  Es*!.,  the  eloquent  teniperanco 
lecturer,  worker,  and  orator,  liiniself  a  refornK-d  nun-seller  and 
drunkard;  and,  through  the  oourtesy  of  Mr.  Murphy,  I,  among 
others,  received  an  invitation  to  attend  and  address  the  meeting. 

In  regard  to  the  meeting  itself,  a  great  diversity  of  opinion 
prevailed.  Some  were  sure  it  would  bo  a  faihu'o :  others  were 
equally  sure  it  would  prove  a  success,  and  these  last  were 
correct.  The  hand  of  God  guided  the  conductors  of  the  enter- 
prise, and  all  foreboding  prophecies  came  to  nauglit.  An 
immense  concourse  of  people  were  on  the  grotuid  all  the  time, 
equalling  in  numbers  those  at  the  preceding  religious  gather- 
ing. It  was  a  camp-meeting  indeed,  —  an  impressive  spectacle. 
Sectarianism  was  unknown,  and  men  and  women  of  all  denom- 
inations met  for  worship  and  mutual  good  under  the  blue 
canopy  of  heaven.  All  present  seemed  animated  with  but  one 
impulse ;  all  classes  of  society  were  represented ;  rich  and 
poor  were  gathered  together  on  common  ground  for  a  common 
purpose.  Rei^rescntatives  were  present  from  every  temperance 
society,  probably,  in  the  country,  as  well  as  from  the  women's 
crusade.  Temperance  and  religion  walked  hand  in  hand. 
Happy  men  were  to  be  found,  drawing,  perhaps  for  the  first 
time  for  years,  sober  breaths,  and  enjoying  an  existence  free 
from  the  fever  of  debauch ;  while  hjvi^py  children  were  to  be 
seen  listening,  for  the  first  time  perhaps,  to  the  glciious  story 
of  the  cross.    A  general  awakening  was  the  result. 

That  such  meetings  as  this  are  productive  of  good,  there  can 
be  no  question,  drawing,  as  they  do,  all  classes  and  grades  of 
society  into  one  common  union,  and  cementing  more  closely 
the  tie  that  binds  man  to  his  fellow-men. 


448  rnx  cAMr-MEETiNG  SKA  soy. 

In  tho  Btntoly  church,  alfts  1  (tho  "  fftHliionnble  "  church,  sup- 
po8P(l  to  ho  devoted  to  tho  worrtliip  of  Iliin  who  had  not  whoro 
to  lay  his  head)  th<M'o  can  be  no  (Mjuality.  Fashion  there  sits  in 
queenly  ntato :  and  the  poor,  and  shahhily  dresHt'd,  feel  ashamed 
to  enter  atnon{»  suuli  finery ;  or,  if  they  enter,  it  is  into  tho  gal- 
lery, where,  in  some  ohscuro  nook,  they  look  down  in  envy  on 
their  more  fortumite  fellow-beings.  Hut  here  in  the  camiHmeet- 
ing,  fill!  in  tho  presence  of  the  infinito  God  who  niudo  tho 
woods,  tho  mountains,  the  fields,  the  stars,  and  the  sea,  for  all 
alike,  all  are  on  tho  same  e(iuality  of  infinite  nothingness.  Hero 
tho  wind  or  tho  ocean,  tho  hill  or  tho  valley,  speak  tho  universal 
voice  of  nature,  and  remind  us  all  that  we  are  in  the  presence 
of  a  Ood  who  heeds  not  our  petty  distinctions,  and  who 
acknowledges  only  two  classes,  —  those  who  love  and  serve 
liim,  and  those  who  love  and  servo  him  not. 

Here  wo  exclaim  with  tho  poet,  "Tho  groves  were  God's  first 
temples :  "  here  we  repeat  softly  the  beautiful  verse,  — 

"  This  turf  shall  be  my  frngrant  sliriiio ; 
!My  tomplo,  Lord,  this  nrcli  of  thine ; 
My  censer's  broath  the  evening  airs; 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers." 

I  do  noo  wonder  at  tho  popularity  of  the  camp-meeting 
.  season.  I  only  wonder  that  the  season  is  not  longer,  that 
there  avo  nol  more  camp-meetings,  and  that  they  are  not  more 
largely  attended.  They  are  among  the  most  humanii.ing  and 
beneficent  institutions  known  to  the  Christian  world.  They 
are  fully  as  Christianizing  as  the  churches  themselves.  Christ 
believed  in  camp-meetings. 

The  temperance  camp-meeting  of  which  I  write,  the  first 
temperance  camp-meeting,  was  a  great  success.  The  crowds 
were  immense  anrl  enthusiastic,  and  the  speakers  were  nu- 
merous and  eloquent.  They  seemed  inspired  by  the  occasion, 
and  spoke  glowing  words  to  convmce  and  to  convert.    And 


now  A  DnuNKEX  nounn  was  havkd.  449 

the  pood  results  of  all  tluH  excitement  mid  oiitlniHiii8m  were 
nmnifoHt.  Men  who  hnd  come  to  ourse  retniiined  tu  prny. 
Men  wiio  h;ul  come  to  revile  reiimined  to  repent,  and  to  call 
to  God  to  Have  tlieia  from  the  wrath  to  come.  The  Spirit 
indeed  moved  upon  the  troubled  waters. 

One  ease  canu)  under  my  own  direct  observation,  which 
forcibly  illustrates  the  effects  produced  upon  evil-doers  by  the 
(rood  words  uttered  during  this  temperance  caniiHueoting.  A 
rough  from  lioston,  an  ex-pugilist  and  gambler,  had  strayed 
within  the  camj)-meeting  grounds  out  of  curiosity,  and  was 
jeering  and  blaspheming  at  all  he  saw.  To  nuiko  his  scorn  of 
"temperance  "  the  more  marked,  this  man  had  filled  a  bottle 
with  whiskey,  and  held  it  in  his  liatKl,  ostentatiously  displayiujc 
it,  and  occasionally  "taking  a  pull"  at  its  contents.  Some 
remonstrated  with  him,  others  reproved  him,  others  again 
threatened  him  with  expulsion  from  the  camp-meeting  groinuls; 
but  he  only  reviled  the  more,  and  drank  the  more.  He  seemed 
utterly  incorrigible. 

But,  in  one  group  he  approached,  a  speaker  was  describing 
the  death-bed  scene  of  a  Christian,  and  contrasting  it  with  tho 
last  moments  of  a  drunkard.  The  speaker  was  not  very  elo- 
quent, but  deeply  in  earnest;  and  his  word-painted  contrast 
between  the  two  death-bt  .  scenes  was  very  realistic.  At  any 
rate,  it  so  deeply  affected  the  drunken  rough,  that  moved  by 
some  irresistible  impulse,  —  inspired,  who  shall  doubt,  from 
above,  —  he  suddenly  raised  his  bottle  of  whiskey,  —  not  to  his 
lips,  but  into  the  air,  —  and  then  flung  it  with  all  his  might  to 
the  ground.  Then,  rushing  to  the  speaker,  he  burst  into  tears, 
flung  his  arms  around  his  neck,  and,  finally  recovering  himself, 
pledged  himself  solemnly,  in  the  presence  of  God  and  his  fel- 
low-men, never  again  to  touch  a  drop  of  liquor.  And  this  was 
but  one  out  of  many  instances  that  could  be  cited.  Yes:  this 
temperance  camp-meeting  was  a  success,  and  there  ought  to  be 


450  "A  nAPPr,  holy  life." 

yearly  camp-meetings  like  this  held  in  every  State  in  the 
Union. 

It  was  a  happy,  holy  life  we  led  in  those  days.  Rising  early 
fron.  our  healthful  sleep,  we  would  hie  us  to  the  beach,  and 
there,  with  the  Almighty  right  before  us,  in  his  grundest  work, 
the  ocean,  v  ould  sing  our  songs  of  praise  to  Him  who  made  the 
sea,  and  us,  and  all  things.  • 

Then  would  follow  an  enjoyable  meal,  followed  by  entertain- 
ing and  improving  conversation,  followed  in  its  turn  bj-^  religious 
and  temperance  services,  and  those  followed  by,  perhaps,  a  re- 
freshing bath  among  the  breakers.  Then  came  dinner,  and  a 
stroll,  and  a  talk,  and  more  services  of  song  and  prayer ;  more 
speeches,  full  of  wisdom,  instruction,  entertainment,  consola- 
tion ;  then  supper,  and  rest  and  repose,  under  tlie  i)rotection 
of  a  loving  God.  Ah  !  if  all  life  were  only  one  camp-meeting. 
During  the  progress  of  this  meeting  I  addressed  the  assem- 
blage, and,  under  the  propitious  influences  of  the  time  and 
scene,  spoke,  I  believe,  with  unwonted  fluency  and  po\ver. 
My  speech  was  well  received,  and  thus  I  was  enabled  to  con- 
tribute my  share  to  the  general  good. 

From  the  camp-meeting  at  Old-Orchard  Beach  I  extended 
my  travels  through  the  State  of  Maine,  —  a  State  forever  mem- 
orable in  the  annals  of  the  history  of  the  temperance  cause, — 
the  State  of  Neal  Dow,  and  emphatically  of  "  Proliibition." 

Undoubtedly,  prohibition  in  Maine,  like  every  otlier  good 
thing  in  every  other  part  of  the  earth,  has  occasionally  been 
carried  too  far.  Undoubtedly,  like  all  other  good  things,  the 
theory  of  prohibition  has  not  always  been  illustrated  favorably 
by  its  practice.  '  Undoubtedly,  there  has  been  some  "  humbug  " 
and  "  cant "  about  it.  Undoubtedly,  there  has  been  a  good 
deal  of  hypocrisy  cloaked  under  it ;  and  the  prohibitory  laws 
have  been  too  often  ingeniously  and  successfully  evaded.  To 
confess  all  this  is  but  to  confess,  that  the  author  of  the  pro- 


PROmniTION  AND  NEAL  DO}V.  461 

hibitory  code  was  human,  that  its  administrators  were  human, 
and  that  the  people  among  whom  it  took  effect  were  very 
human.  But  conceding  all  this,  granting  nearly  all  that  the 
opponents  of  prohibition  can  allege  against  either  its  theory  or 
its  practice,  its  principles  or  its  administration,  the  great  fact 
remains  undenied  and  undeniable,  that,  on  the  whole,  prohibi- 
tion in  Maine  has  worked  well,  and  that  it  has  done  an  amount 
of  good  that  will  only  be  fully  known  at  the  Judgment  Day, 
when  all  secrets  are  laid  bare,  ai:  1  every  thing  will  be  seen  in 
its  true  light. 

Maine  under  prohibition  has  been  infinitely  better  and 
happier  than  Maine  would  have  been  without  prohibition,  or 
than  other  States  are  to-day  without  it.  This  is  the  one  all- 
important  point,  compared  with  which  all  minor  points  sink 
into  insignificance.  Thousands  of  homes  in  Maine  under  pro- 
hibition are  peaceful  and  prosperous,  which  in  Maine  without 
prohibition  would  have  been  wretched,  if  not  utterly  wrecked. 
Thousands  of  men  in  Maine  under  prohibition  are  honest,  in- 
dustrious, sober,  who  in  Maine  without  prohibition  would  have 
been  dishonest,  idle,  and  intemperate.  Thousands  of  women 
in  Maine  under  prohibition  are  happy  wives  and  honored  moth- 
ers, who  in  Maine  without  prohibition  would  be  the  despairing 
wives  of  confirmed  drunkards,  or  the  disgraced  mothers  of 
convicted  felons. 

This  is  quite  enough  to  prove  the  utility  of  prohibition,  and 
forever  to  immortalize  the  name  of  tieaX  Dow. 

Of  course,  circumstances  alter  cases,  and  men  differ  in  dif- 
ferent localities.  Prohibition  is  not  possible  at  once  in  every 
State,  everywhere.  This  is  a  fact  that  the  over-zealous  ad- 
vocate of  temperance  should  always  bear  in  mind.  All  moral 
fruit,  like  material  fruit,  needs  preparing  for;  and  this  prep- 
aration takes,  not  only  trouble,  but  time.  Heaven  could  have 
ordered  it  otherwise  perhaps.     The  Infinite   could  so  have 


452  "  THE  GRADUAL  SYSTEM." 

nrranged  this  world,  that  crops  would  spring  out  of  the  ground 
instantly,  without  sowing  and  ploughing  and  fertilizing,  and 
constant  care,  watchfulness,  and  work,  on  the  part  of  the  hus- 
bandman. But  it  has  not  pleased  the  Almighty  so  to  arrange 
it.  The  scheme  of  the  world  has  been  based  upon  the  grad  ial 
system  of  development.  Tiie  world  was  made  gradually  in 
six  days  or  periods,  we  are  told  in  the  Sacred  Volume,  —  not 
evolved  instantly.  And  he  who  would  hope  to  achieve  lasting 
good  in  the  moral  world  must  submit  himself  to  this  unfailing 
law :  he  must  prepare  for  good ;  he  must  lead  up  to  it  gradu- 
ally. As  with  every  thing  else,  so  with  prohibition.  The  tenv 
perance  worker,  if  wise,  will  noc  expect,  will  not  attempt, 
to  advocate  immediate  prohibition  in  all  localities  ixnder  all 
circumstances.  But  he  will  sow  the  good  seed,  he  will  fight 
the  good  fight,  be  will  pave  the  way,  he  will  educate  public 
opinion  gradually  up  to  the  desired  point.  Step  by  step  he 
will  march  to  prohibition,  —  not  leap  to  it  at  a  single  bound, 
and,  by  so  leaping,  fall  and  fail. 

I  have  always  acted  on  this  gradual  system.,  and  intend  to 
do  so.  The  Chinese  have  a  proverb,  "  By  time  and  patience 
the  mulberry-leaf  becomes  satin."  The  Spanish  proverb  says, 
"  All  things  come  to  him  that  waits."  And  Holy  Scripture 
assures  us,  that,  "  in  due  season  "  (not  at  once,  but  in  the  course 
of  time)  "  we  shall  reap  if  we  faint  not."  It  is  to  these  assur- 
ances that  I  look  for,  and  confidently  believe  in  (some  time,  at 
last),  general  prohibition.  But  to  ^'eal  Dow,  more  than  to  any 
other  one  man,  will  ahv.ays  be  duo  the  praise  for  the  establish- 
ing of  prohibition  in  our  midst,  as  "a  fixed  fact."  And  to 
such  men  .is  Francis  Murphy,  and  Dr.  Henry  A.  Reynolds,  the 
leaders  of  the  Red-ribbon  movement,  will  ever  be  awarded 
a  higli  place  in  the  history  of  temperance  for  their  support  of 
the  good  work. 

I  met  with  much  encouragement  as  a  temperance  lecturer 


BIGNINO   TUE  PLEDGE.  468 

in  Maine.  It  was  a  refreshing  season  for  me  :  I  trust  I  accom- 
plished some  good  for  others.  I  know  that  I  derived  much 
moral  benefit  myself.  I  felt  stronger  in  and  for  the  good  work 
to  which  I  had  pledged  myself.  I  felt  now  that  I  stood  on 
firm  ground,  —  firm  as  the  grace  of  God.  And  the  phantom 
fear  of  again  falling  —  again  wallowing  in  the  mire  —  no 
longer  haunted  me.  In  union  there  is  strength,  and  "  the 
prayer  of  the  righteous  man  availeth  mucn."  The  union  of 
heart  and  soul  with  the  temperance  men  of  Maine,  the  fer- 
vent prayers  in  which  I  had  joined  with  them,  had  imparted 
new  zeal  to  me ;  and  I  started  forth  anew.  I  now  made  up 
my  mind  to  do  something  I  had  not  yet  done ;  i.e.,  to  procure 
signers  to  the  pledge  during  my  lectures. 

I  know  that  this  signing  the  pledge  has  been  adversely  com- 
mented upon  by  many ;  that  a  deal  oi  fine-spun  argument  has 
been  directed  against  it.  I  am  aware  that  it  has  been  said, 
that  a  man  true  to  himself,  a  true  man,  needs  no  mere  pledge, 
requires  no  signature  on  paper,  to  preserve  his  integrity,  to 
keep  the  mastery  over  his  own  appetites.  I  am  fully  aware 
that  it  has  often  been  stated,  that,  if  a  man  is  morally  or  phj'S- 
ically  weak,  no  amount  of  paper  signed  can  make  or  keep  him 
strong.  But  I  also  know,  by  practical  experience,  which  is  worth 
all  the  mere  theory  in  the  world,  that  the  binding  form  of  a 
solemn  pledge,  a  promise  taken  under  the  highest  sanctions,  has 
proved  an  invaluable  safeguard  to  many  a  weaker  vessel  in  the 
dark  hour  of  temptation.  And  while,  alas !  it  is  true  that  many 
a  man  has  violated  his  pledge,  and  gone  to  perdition,  it  is  also, 
God  be  praised !  true,  that  the  great  majority  of  those  who  have 
once  solemnly  signed  a  pledge  have  kept  their  promise.  And 
certainly,  the  pledge  or  promise  in  itself  is  a  good,  a  blessed 
thing.  So,  I  have  for  years  been  strongly  in  favor  of  signing 
the  pledge,  and  have  found  it  to  work,  on  the  whole,  admir- 
ably. 


4St  *' LET  TDE  SLANDERS   GO." 

I  visited  all  the  principal  towns,  and  even  many  of  the  vil- 
lages, of  Maine,  with  encouraging  results.  At  some  places  I 
obtained  over  a  hundred  signatures  to  the  temperance  pledge ; 
in  one  place,  over  a  hundred  and  fifty.  And  I  can  say,  with- 
out egotism  or  exaggeration,  that,  as  a  rule,  I  was  very  well 
received,  —  cordially  welcomed,  —  and  gensrally  invited  to 
revisit  and  relecture.  ■.  < 

Among  the  places  I  visited  wera  Bangor,  Augusta,  Lewiston, 
Bath,  Biddeford,  Saco,  etc.  In  the  inain  I  had  good  cause  to 
be  well  pleased  with  Maine.  But  there  is  a  reverse  to  every 
medal,  a  dark  side  to  every  thing  but  sunlight;  and  there  are 
spots  on  even  the  sun.  So  I  must  confess  that  there  were 
some  unflattering,  and,  happily,  utterly  unfounded,  statements 
bruited  abroad  against  me  during  my  career  in  the  Tine-tree 
State.  I  mention  this  fact  with  natural  reluctance ;  but  as  I 
started  out,  in  this  narrative  of  my  life,  to  tell  "  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,"  I  shall  continue  to  do 
so.  Shakspeare  has  phrased  it,  that,  '•  Be  thou  as  pure  as  ice,  as 
chaste  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny."  And  though, 
literally  speaking,  I  was  not  as  pure  as  the  former  high-priced 
article,  nor  as  beautiful  and  chaste  as  the  latter,  still  the  slan- 
ders disseminated  by  a  few  against  me  were  simply  slanders, 
nothing  less,  nothing  more.  It  was  said  that  I  had  backslided, 
had  fallen,  had  taken  once  more  to  drinkinff.  But  I  am  glad 
and  proud  and  thankful  to  say,  that  I  had  done  nothing  of 
the  kind ;  had  not  thought  of  doing  it ;  had  not  even  wished 
to  do  it ;  would  not  have  done  it  for  the  world.  So  let  the 
slanders  go,  and  the  slanderers,  into  oblivion.  They  are  past. 
"  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead."  With  a  clear  conscience  I 
continued  my  work  of  reformation,  —  reformed  myself,  endea,v- 
oring  to  reform  others. 

I  come  now  to  a  rather  exciting  episode  in  my  career  as  a 
temperance  lecturer,    Sunday,  Jan.  10,  in  the  afterugon,  I  had 


A    WINTER   SCENE.  455 

an  engagement  in  Woolwich,  opposite  the  city  of  Bath,  in  the 
Montsweag  Meeting-liouse ;  and  that  same  evening  I  had  ar- 
ranged to  speak  in  the  Winter-street  Church  at  Bath.  The 
day  was  intensely  cold,  —  a  day  that  made  one  think  of  Dr. 
Eiiisha  Kent  Kane,  Sir  John  Franklin,  Dr.  Hayes,  and  other  arc- 
tic heroes  and  martyrs ;  a  day  when  the  familiar  saying,  "  cold 
as  charity,"  carried  with  it  an  extra  significance ;  a  day  when 
all  nature  seemed  frozen  into  an  eternal  sleep.  The  wind 
whistled  over  the  white  ground ;  and  the  Kennebec  River, 
which  divides  Woolwich  from  Bath,  and  over  which  I  would 
be  compelled  to  cross  to  keep  my  engagement  at  the  latter 
place,  was  wide,  and  full  of  floating  ice.  So  that  when,  having 
lectnred  at  the  Montsweag  Meeting-house,  Woolwich,  I  came 
to  the  river-bank,  about  four  o'clock,  it  seemed  utterly  impossi- 
ble to  make  the  passage  over  to  Bath. 

What  was  to  be  done?  But  there  was  no  use  asking  that 
question.  I  knew  what  was  to  be  done  well  enough.  I  must 
get  across  that  river  at  all  hazards.  I  must  keep  my  engage- 
ment. I  must  advocate  temperance,  and  illustrate  the  sincerity 
of  my  advocacy  by  undergoing  whatever  trouble,  or  even  dan- 
ger, lay  in  the  way,  and  could  not  be  avoided. 

I  was  told  that  the  river,  a  mile  or  two  above  Woolwich,  was 
frozen  across,  apparently  in  one  solid  field  of  ice,  stretching  from 
bank  to  bank.  Assuming  the  correctness  of  this  statement,  I 
tried  to  procure  a  horse  and  sleigh  to  carry  me  across.  But 
I  found,  at  first,  nobody  who  would  entertain  the  proposition. 
I  was  assured  that  the  appearance  of  the  river  was  deceptive ; 
'that  the  field  of  ice  did  not  extend  unbroken  more  than  half 
the  width  of  the  river,  the  other  half  being  full  of  floating  ice, 
utterly  impassable  for  sleighs.  I  was  also  assured,  that,  even 
where  the  river  appeared  to  be  frozen  solidly,  the  ice  was  thin, 
liable  to  crack  at  any  moment,  and  certainly  unable  to  bear  the 
weight  of  a  sleigh  with  safety.     As  I  had  offered  a  pretty  large 


466  8LEIGU,   OR  BOAT t 

sum  of  money  for  the  opportunity  of  sleighing  across  the  river 
if  possible,  and  as,  by  declining  to  gratify  this  idea  of  mine,  the 
parties  lost  the  money,  I  have  no  doubt  now  that  what  they 
stated  was  correct. 

But  I  was  not  then  ready  to  be  convinced  of  the  impractica- 
bility of  my  scheme.  I  went  round,  insisting  upon  its  being 
tried.  And  at  last  I  found  one  man  with  a  horse  and  sleitrh, 
who,  "for  an  equivalent,"  consented  to  make  the  attempt  to 
take  me  over. 

The  preliminary  arrangements  being  made,  the  sleigh  started 
off  across  the  Kennebec.  For  a  while  all  went  smoothly.  The 
ice  was  firm ;  and  I  began  to  think,  with  a  certain  degree  of 
pride  and  joy,  that  the  danger  of  this  river  sleigh-travel  had 
been  exaggerated.  But  soon  I  came  to  the  end  of  my  self- 
congratulation  and  my  expedition  together,  for  the  ice  grew 
weaker  and  weaker ;  and,  although  we  proceeded  very  slowly 
and  cautiously,  we  were  compelled  to  turn  back. 

But  I  did  not  yet  give  up  the  ship,  or,  rather,  the  sleigh.  I 
heard  that  the  ice  was  thicker  and  more  extended  some  two 
miles  farther  down,  and  I  insisted  upon  testing  the  accuracy 
of  this  statement.  I  found  it,  to  a  certain  extent,  correct.  The 
ice  was  both  "  thicker  and  more  extended  ;  "  but,  alas  !  in  cross- 
ing a  river  in  a  sleigh,  a  miss  of  a  thousand  feet  is  as  good 
or  bad  as  the  miss  of  a  mile.  And,  for  the  second  time,  the 
sleighing-party  turned  back. 

I  now  felt  forced  to  abandon  the  sleighing  project  altogether, 
but  there  still  was  one  hope  left.  The  very  condition  of  affairs 
on  the  river  which  rendered  it  impossible  to  cross  it  in  a  vehicle 
or  sleigh,  rendered  it  barely  possible  to  cross  it  in  a  vessel,  —  a 
boat.  • 

I  suggested  this  idea  to  some  boatmen  along  the  river,  but 
it  was  not  hailed  with  enthusiasm.  In  fact,  the  majority  of 
boatmen  scouted  it  altogether,  as  being  as  visionary  and  imprac- 


CROSSING    TUE  KENNEUEC.  457 

ticable  as  the  sleighing  idea.  But  I  talked,  expostulated,  ar- 
gued, and,  above  all,  promised,  —  promised  a  roiuid  sum  to  any 
man  wlio  would  row  me  across  to  Bath.  And  at  last  I  found 
my  man.  jNIoved  by  my  offer  of  twenty-five  dollars,  cash  down, 
to  be  handed  to  tlicm  the  moment  I  reached  the  Bath  shore, 
two  boatmen  volunteered  to  carry  me  over. 

I  thought  now,  with  triumph,  that  I  had  surmounted  my 
difficulties.  On  tho  contrary,  they  had  just  commenced.  It 
took  over  two  hours  of  wearisome  work,  and  still  more  weary- 
ing delay,  to  cut  the  ice  to  get  the  boat  out  of  the  dock.  And 
by  this  time  it  was  dark ;  and  I  was  nearly  faint,  as  well  as 
half-frozen.  If  ever  there  was  a  seeming  and  plausible  excuse 
for  resort  to  alcohol  as  a  stimulant,  it  was  now  and  here.  I 
was  worn  out,  mind  and  body.  I  was  suffering  keenly  from 
the  cold.  I  felt  at  times  depressed,  even  amid  my  exultation, 
at  my  prospect  of  success  in  my  present  undertaking.  Alcohol 
would  certainly  have  produced  an  immediate,  and,  perhaps, 
pleasant  stimulation.  But,  even  under  these  circumstances, 
total  abstinence  was  best.  For  alcohol's  temporary  stimulation 
would  have  been  followed  by  the  inevitable  re-action,  and  would 
have  ultimately  increased,  not  lessened,  my  depression.  And 
the  fleeting  strength  derived  from  alcohol  would  have  been 
followed  by  an  even  greater  proportionate  weakening  of  the 
muscular  forces.  And  I  would  have  found  myself  more  fa- 
tigued than  benefited.  No :  even  in  a  physical,  a  muscular  point 
of  view,  temperance  pays.  And  I  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  throwing  myself  into  the  ice-cold  waters,  as  to  have  thrown 
into  myself  the  fiery  draughts  of  alcoholic  poison. 

Finally,  at  dark,  we  three —  the  two  boatmen  and  myself — 
started  in  a  boat  across  the  mighty  and  icy  Kennebec. 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  trip  across  the  frozen  river.  T 
could  do  nothing  but  wait  —  while  the  two  boatmen  worked  — 
and  hope,  and  shiver  with  the  cold.         *     •       ■ 


458  TALKING  FOR  LIFE. 

I  dill  a  (leal  of  tliinking  in  the  boat.  I  tliouglit  of  Napo- 
leon's terrific  retreat  from  Moscow.  I  thought  of  all  tho 
stories  I  had  ever  read  or  heard  of  men  i)crisl)ing  from  cohl. 

And  then  I  began  to  think  how  sweet  it  would  bo  just  to  fall 
asleep  a  wliile,  and  yield  to  the  almost  delicious  numbness  and 
sense  of  laziness  that  now  commenced  to  steal  over  mo. 

And  then,  with  ;i  start,  I  awoke  to  tho  reality  of  my  jjosition. 
I  remembered  how,  in  the  stories  I  liad  been  tliinking  of,  tho 
first  sign  and  the  most  fatal  of  tho  freezing  process  was  the 
tendency  it  caused  to  sleep.  I  felt,  that,  if  I  fell  a  sleep  in  that 
boat,  I  would  never  come  out  of  it  (probably)  alive.  I  must 
keep  myself  awake ;  but  how  ?  I  could  not  move  about  in  that 
little  boat.  I  had  to  sit  stock-still.  I  could  not  read.  It  was 
pitch  dark.  Only  one  thing  suggested  itself  to  me,  —  I  could 
talk.  And  talk  I  did,  —  talked  for  my  life.  I  calculated  that 
no  man  could  talk  intelligently  and  consciously  and  sleep 
soundly  at  the  same  time;  so  I  talked  for  dear  life,  —  talked 
faster  and  longer  than  even  tho  average  woman  "with  a 
mission." 

I  talked  about  everything  T  could  think  of, — everything 
in  the  heaven>j  above,  in  the  earth  beneath,  or  the  waters 
under  the  earth  ;  talked,  although  my  companions  had  no  time 
to  listen ;  talked,  although  the  two  boatmen  had  no  inclination 
to  answer.  I  talked,  talked,  talked,  for  the  three  long  —  oh 
how  long  and  dreary  and  cold  —  hours  which  it  took  to  row 
one  mile  amid  the  ice  in  the  Kennebec.  I  talked,  talked, 
talked,  till  we  were  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  or  a  little 
beyond  the  middle,  nearing  Bath.  I  heard  the  faint  sound  of 
a  bell,  —  a  cliurcli-bcU,  —  the  bell  of  the  church  at  Bath,  where 
I  was  announced  that  evening  to  lecture.  That  bell  put  new 
life  into  me.  Perhaps  I  may  even  go  so  far  as  to  affirm  that 
that  bell  saved  my  life. 

For  just   then  I  had   talked  myself  out.     My  tongue  was 


"I  lieiiid  the  faint  souiiil  of  ii  Ix'll,  — a  chmcli-lioU  "  [p.  458]. 


A  NEW  WAT  OF  CONQUEHINO  DISEASE.  469 

growing  tired.  I  was  getting  sleepy  once  more,  but  tlio  bleHHed 
sound  of  that  blessed  bell  acted  on  my  spirit  like  a  cliarni.  It 
seemed  lo  say  in  its  silvery  tones,  "Cheer  up,  brother:  the  good 
and  true  are  expecting  you  to-niglit.  They  are  coming  from 
their  homes  to  hear  you.  Their  prayers  are  with  you ;  so  cheer 
up,  brother,  cheer  and  huiTy  up." 

By  almost  superhuman  efforts  we  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
Rath  aide,  and  joyously  I  leaped  out  of  the  boat  upon  the  land, 
liut,  in  the  very  midst  of  my  triumph,  exhausted  nature  asserted 
its  supremacy  ;  and  I  fainted.  15 ut,  recovering  myself,  I  darted 
in  the  direction  of  the  church,  and  tlie  church-bell  that  was 
then  ringing  out  its  last  peal.  I  fell  twice  or  thrice  on  the  way ; 
but  I  reached  the  church  at  last,  and  made  my  way  —  I  cannot, 
to  this  day,  remember  exactly  how  —  to  the  chancel,  from  which 
place  I  addressed  my  large  and  expectant  audience.  The 
spacious  church  was  crowded,  and  I  spoke  with  vigor.  IIow  I 
contrived  to  speak,  I  know  not.  I  was  utterly  exhausted,  physi- 
cally and  mentally.  But  the  excitement  of  the  moment  sus- 
tained me,  and,  may  I  not  humbly  and  reverentially  add,  the 
grace  of  God. 

I  felt  like  one  in  a  trance.  Mechanically  I  submitted  to  the 
kind  offices  of  my  friends,  as  they  removed  my  wraps,  overcoat, 
muffler,  etc.,  from  me.  Mechanically  I  leaned  upon  their  arms, 
as  they  led  me  to  my  place  as  speaker.  But  the  moment  I  saw 
my  audience,  all  weakness  vanished ;  and  I  really  think,  that  in 
all  my  life  I  never  spoke  better  than  I  did  that  night. 

A  physician  assured  me  afterwards,  that  it  was  the  excite- 
ment of  my  speech  at  that  time  that  saved  me  from  falling  a 
victim  to  a  severe  spell  of  sickness.  Had  I  yielded  to  my  feel- 
ings and  physical  condition,  I  would  have  been  taken  seriously 
ill ;  but  as  I  conquered  obstacles,  and  conquered  myself,  so  also 
I  conquered  disease. 

"  The  Bath  Times,"  a  daily  paper  prhited  in  that  city,  had 


460  IN  MKMOIUAM.  —  MOSES   OiVKy. 

the  following  account  of  tliis  iiioidciit  from  tho  peu  of  a  local 
poet.  I  iiitniduci!  it  into  tlicso  piifj(;rt,  not  on  account  of  any 
great  merit  in  the  piece  itself,  but  in  kindly  remembrance  of  its 
author,  Moses  Owen,  who  waa  a  nuiii  of  talent  wheu  he  did 
himself  justice,  but  who  seldom  did  justice  to  himself,  or  any- 
body else,  simply  because  of  his  unfortunate  ap[)otite  for  li(iuor. 
At  the  time  of  this  writing  he  was  interested  in  the  temperance 
movement,  then  the  sensation  of  tho  time ;  but,  when  the 
novelty  wore  olT,  he,  like  too  many,  fell  from  grace,  and  returned 
to  his  old  habits  of  dissipation.  Time  and  time  again  was  he 
warned  by  kind,  wise  friends  against  his  unfortunate  propen- 
sity, but  all  in  vain  :  like  1  undreds  of  others  he  waa  perfectly 
certain  that  no  harm  ould  ever  happen  to  hint,  —  as  if  nature 
were  likely  to  alter  its  laws  for  his  exclusive  behalf.  Tiie  old, 
old  story  was  repeated  in  his  case,  —  the  very  old,  ohl  story. 
He  drank  harder  as  the  years  rolled  by,  lost  character,  and 
peace,  and  money  by  drink,  and  finally  became  the  victim  of 
delirium  tremens,  and  died  in  an  insane-asylum.  And  yet 
there  never  was  a  warmer-hearted  man  than  Moses  Owen. 

But  to  the  poem  itself.  It  was  thus  introduced  by  "TJie 
Bath  Times : "  — 

The  following  poem  was  written  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Thomas 
N.  Doutney,  the  eloquent  temperance  lecturer  of  Hoston,  crossing 
the  Kennebec  from  AVoolwich  to  Bath  on  the  evening  of  Jan.  10. 
The  day  was  intensely  cold.  The  drifting  ice  would  seem  to  forbid 
a  passage :  but,  all  undaunted,  Mr.  Doutney  resolved  to  cross ;  and, 
after  e  perilous  passage,  lie  was  landed  on  the  Bath  side,  in  season  to 
address  his  friends,  and  a  large  congregation,  in  the  house  of  God. 
fcjucb  perseverance  can  but  meet  with  success. 

DEDICATED  TO   THOMAS  N.   DOUTNEY. 

BY   MOSES   OWKN. 

The  tide  runs  swift,  but  he  does  not  reck : 
He  must  cross  to-uight  the  Keuaebec, 


A   LITTLE  "  rOMK."  461 

TIioukIi  Uio  cruel  Ico  with  crush  and  roar 

Wiiiild  HctMii  to  >viini  him  frotii  the  ^liore. 

"lis  (hity  culls:  iiiul  iiu  knowH  full  well 

Thi)  iiioaiiing  of  tlio  <l(!i'|)-touiHl  boll ; 

It  culls  men  to  the  house  of  prayer, 

Ami  ho  had  promised  to  meet  them  there,  — 

Hud  promised  to  meet  them,  to  toll  tliem  all 

Of  the  drunkurd's  curse  uiid  the  drunkard's  fall. 

And  on  he  passed  o'er  the  river  broad, 

To  meet  his  friends  in  the  house  of  God. 

lint  the  wind  blew  cold,  and  the  ice  delayed, 

And  the  boatmen  faltered  as  if  afraid  ; 

But  all  undaunted  his  voice  was  heard, — 

"  I've  promised  to  meet  them:  I'll  keep  my  word  I " 

Within  the  church  on  the  other  shore 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  opening  door; 

And  sec,  ho  comes !  he  hns  nil  defKul ; 

Ho  has  safely  crossed  o'er  the  angry  tide; 

And  he  speaks  good  words  of  heavenly  cheer, 

And  tells  them  that  salvation's  near: 

I'lucked  from  the  burning,  ho  can  stand 

To  meet  his  friends  with  outstretched  liand. 

Cio  on,  brave  worker  I  men  shall  yield ;  ^ 

'Tis  not  in  vain  you  have  appealed : 

With  sucli  as  you  inteniix-rance  dire 

Must  fade  away,  and  soon  expire. 

Anotlier  episode  of  my  experience  in  M<aine  is  worth  record- 
ing. During  the  last  week  of  the  session  of  the  Maine  Legis- 
lature, on  Sunday  evening,  Feb.  21,  I  was  at  Bucksport,  some 
twenty  miles  east  of  Uangor,  where.  I  lectured  with  much 
success,  receiving  one  hundred  and  forty-three  signatures  to 
the  pledge.  The  next  night,  INIonday,  Feb.  22,  I  had  an 
engagement  to  speak  in  the  hall  of  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives at  Augusta.  Monday  morning  came ;  and  I  took  the  six- 
o'clock  train  for  Bangor,  which  wtvs,  as  per  schedule,  to  arrive 
there  in  season  to  connect  with  the  regular  train  on  the  Maine 


462  ■  ON  TO  AUGUSTA. 

Central.  But,  owing  to  the  icy  condition  of  tiie  track,  the 
train  on  wliicli  I  was  travelling  Wixs  so  delayed,  that  the  regu- 
lar train  on  the  Maine  Central  did  not  wait  for  it,  ijut  had  been 
gone  nearly  an  hour  when  our  train  arrived  in  Bargor. 

Here  was  a  situation.  Here  was  a  predicament  indeed.  No 
more  through-trains  that  day,  and  Augusta  seventj'-  miles  away! 

Of  course,  the  idea  of  fulfilling  my  engagement  for  that  night 
must  be  abandoned,  you  say.  Certainly  not,  nothing  of  the  sort. 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  deliver  that  lecture  of  mine 
in  Augusta  that  night  if  it  was  in  the  power  of  mortal  man  to 
accomplish  the  undertaking.  This  arrangement  to  lecture  at 
Augusta,  the  capital  city  of  the  great  State  of  Maine,  was  an 
important  epoch  in  my  career  as  a  public  speaker ;  it  marked 
ray  gradual  progress  upward  and  onward  as  a  temperance  lec- 
turer; it  offered  me  an  opportunity  to  make  myself  and  my 
cause  more  prominent  than  any  other  opportunity  I  had  yet 
enjoyed ;  and  I  determined  that  circumstances,  mere  matters  of 
transit  and  detail,  should  not  deprive  me  of  my  golden  provi- 
dential opportunity.  ' 

I  could  not  reach  Augusta  that  night  by  the  cars,  and,  of 
course,  I  could  not  walk  there  ;  but  it  was  bai-ely  possible  that  I 
could  reach  there  during  the  evening  by  sleighing.  It  was  now 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  and,  if  I  could  make  my  arrange- 
ments satisfactorily,  I  could  reach  Augusta  from  Bangor  in,  say, 
from  ten  to  twelve  hours  if  all  worked  well,  —  if  the  horses  and 
the  sleigh  held  out,  and  the  driver  did  not  fail  me,  and  if  I  did 
not  freeze  on  the  way.  It  was  bitter  cold,  —  one  of  the  very 
coldest  days  of  a  remarkably  cold  season,  —  and  windy,  and 
altogether  disagreeable,  even  dangerous  to  those  too  long  ex- 
posed to  the  weather.  But  it  mattered  not.  I  was  in  such  a 
state  of  mind  as  to  be  rendered  almost  independent  of  that 
mightiest  o,.  mndane  influences,  —  the  weather;  and  I  set  to 
work  to  prepare  for  my  sleigh-ride  to  Augusta.     ?' »;;•  ^'  t 


,      A   SLEIGH-RIDE  EXTEAORDINART.  488 

I  was  on  friendly  terms  with  the  proprietress  of  one  of  the 
leading  hostelries  of  Bangor,  Mrs.  T.  A.  Powers,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Asa  B.  Hutchinson  ;  and  through  the  kind  offices  of  herself  and 
her  son,  Mr.  Ashman  Powers,  I  was  able  to  procure  a  sleigh 
on  reasonable  terms :  and  at  precisely  ten  o'clock  on  Monday 
morning  I  left  Louder  Block,  Hammond  Street,  in  a  well- 
appointed  sleigh,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Ashman  Powers.    • 

Behind  our  sturdy  and  tolerably  swift  team  we  rode  some 
twenty-five  miles  to  Newport,  where  we  changed  horses. 
Then,  having  partaken  hurriedly  of  a  strengthening  dinner,  we 
dashed  on  to  Clinton.  At  the  different  places  at  which  we 
stopped  for  a  few  moments  to  rest  our  horses,  I  would  tele- 
graph on  to  the  next  town  for  fresh  animals.  I  also,  as  it  ap- 
proached nightfall,  sent  on  telegrams  to  the  sergeant-at-arms  at 
the  House  of  Representatives,  Augusta,  keeping  him  informed 
of  our  progress. 

But  in  some  places  our  progress  was  stayed  altogether  :  twice 
or  thrice  the  snow-drifts  were  so  formidable,  that,  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances,  any  man  would  have  been  justified  in  turn- 
ing back.  But  1  never  even  so  much  as  thought  of  that.  On 
through  the  ice  and  snow  and  wind  and  growing  darkness  I 
made  my  weary  way.  If  the  snow  was  impassable  in  one  spot, 
I  made  a  detour  around  that  spot,  and  found  or  made  a  passage 
elsewhere. 

Several  times  the  sleigh  capsized,  and  I  was  thrown  violently 
into  a  snow-bank.  But,  righting  the  sleigh  with  difficulty, 
we  resumed  our  way.  And  here  I  must  say  a  good  word  for 
our  horses,  or,  towards  the  last  stages  of  our  journey,  our 
single  horse.  The  intelligent  animal  appeared  to  appreciate 
the  situation,  and  behaved  accordingly,  as  if  fully  aware  that 
perhaps  our  very  lives  depended  on  him  in  this  emergency. 
He  would,  in  the  case  of  an  upset,  remain  stock-still  in  the 
freezing  cold  and  the  blinding  snow  until   the  vehicle  was 


464       CONQUERING   COLD,  DARKNESS,   AND  DISTANCE. 

righted,  and  would  then  resume  his  journey.  As  night  drew 
near,  and  Augusta  nearer,  the  cold  increased  ;  and  our  risks 
grew  in  proportion  to  the  darkness.  Amid  the  uniform  black- 
ness of  the  night,  and  the  uniform  whiteness  of  the  snow,  we 
stood  in  constant  danger  of  that  most  terrible  thing,  in  our 
position,  losing  our  way.  The  drifts  nearly  blinded  us ;  but, 
trusting  to  God  and  our  horse,  we  plunged  on. 

Our  trust  was  not  in  vain.  After  a  long  and  weary  ride  of 
nearly  eleven  hours,  frozen  almost  to  the  bone,  we  saw  the 
lights  of  Augusta  gleaming  in  the  distance,  with  a  radiance 
far  brighter  to  us  than  that  of  all  the  stars  in  heaven.  For 
"the  cold  light  of  the  stars"  is  more  divine  than  human;  but 
the  lights  of  Augusta  were  full  of  suggestions  of  warmth  and 
of  home,  of  friends  waiting  to  welcome  us,  of  the  full  tide  of 
humanity,  of  the  joys  of  life.  And  we  saw  them,  and  thanked 
God.  And,  dashing  along  with  all  the  vigor  that  our  own 
energy  and  encouragement  could  impart  to  our  faithful  steed, 
we  at  last  reached  our  destination,  having  conquered  cold, 
darkness,  and  distance  in  the  cause  of  temperance. 

The  very  first  man  I  met,  on  arriving  at  the  State  House, 
was  an  ex-bartender  of  mine,  who  had.  been  in  my  employ  at 
Boston.  He  recognized  me,  and  addressed  me  at  once ;  but  I 
saw  him  not  just  then.  I  was  so  blinded  with  the  snow,  so 
numb  with  the  cold,  that  I  could  not  distinctly  distinguish  any 
thing.  I  made  my  way  into  the  hall,  which  was  packed,  liter- 
ally packed,  with  an  excited  audirnce,  expecting  my  arrival. 
It  was  now  about  twenty  minutes  of  nine :  and  the  audience 
had  been  assembled  since  about  half-past  seven,  nearly  two 
hours ;  being  kept  together  by  the  interest  afforded  them  by 
the  occasional  telegrams  from  me,  read  to  them  from  the 
platform. 

My  appearance  among  them  was  hailed  by  a  shout  of  wel- 
come ;  and  I  advanced  to  the  platform,  almost  like  a  conqueror 


ippearance  among  them  was  Iiailed  by  a  shout  of  welcome"  [p.  4ti4]. 


\  ■ 


LECTURING   UNDER  DIFFICULTIES.  465 

receiving  an  ovation.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  mj''  triumph, 
I  was  nearly  blind,  —  snow-blind,  —  and  almost  faint  from 
exposure.  I  felt  like  any  being  in  the  world  rather  than  a 
conqueror. 

I  began  my  lecture  at  precisely  fifteen  minutes  before  nine, 
and  for  a  while  said  little  worth  the  saying;  for,  to  tell  tlie 
truth,  I  did  not  yet  know  myself  what  I  was  saying.  I  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  mingled  excitement  and  exhaustion 
of  my  memorable  sleigh-ride.  I  could  not  see  or  realize  my 
audience,  though  there  it  stretched  before  me.  All  was  dim 
and  blurred  before  my  eyes,  accustomed  for  the  last  few  hours 
only  to  straining  through  the  snow.  But  at  last  my  nerves 
and  eyes  grew  stronger,  my  body  and  heart  grew  stronger,  ray 
soul  and  voice  grew  stronger.  I  realized  my  position,  address- 
ing the  intelligence,  morality,  and  respectability  of  Augusta, 
and  spoke  with  more  than  my  wonted  energy  and  effect.  I 
felt  that  I  was  affecting  my  audience  because  I  began  to  affect 
myself.  I  warmed  with  my  subject,  I  rose  with  my  theme,  and, 
ere  I  finished,  had  really,  to  a  degree,  deserved  the  applause 
with  which  my  address  was  greeted. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  women's  crusade.  —  ITS  EFFECTS  IN  BANGOR,  ME.,  AND  ELSE- 
WHERE.—TUB  OHIGIN  AND  PROGRESS  OF  THE  GOOD  WORK. —  SCENES 
AND  INCIDKNTS. — THE  CAREER  OF  THE  CRUSADERS  IN  CINCINNATI, 
CHICAGO,   AND  NEW  YORK. 

During  the  memorable  and  eventful  visit  to  Maine,  of  which 
I  am  now  writing,  a  remarkable  phase  of  the  temperance  move- 
ment, known  as  "  The  Women's  Crusade,"  was  in  progress  at 
Bangor.  The  noble  band  who  formed  the  women  crusaders 
were  unceasing  in  their  efforts  to  reclaim  the  downfallen.  And 
they  were  wiser  than  most  reformers:  recognizing  the  close 
connection  .between  the  body  and  the  mind,  the  material  and 
the  moral  part  of  man,  they  not  only  endeavored  to  reach 
the  heart  of  the  poor  inebriate  by  prayer  and  exhortation, 
but,  if  he  was  hungry,  they  fed  liim ;  if  he  was  ragged,  they 
clothed  liim ;  if  he  was  in  want,  they  aided  him  to  the  utmost 
of  their  abilities.  They  acted  on  the  almost  infallible  rule, 
"  that  the  road  to  the  soul  lies  through  the  stomach."  Fine 
words  are  all  w6ll  enough,  but  kind  deeds  are  finer :  destitu- 
tion and  want  need  more  than  eloquence.  Riglit  nobly  did 
the  philanthropic  and  truly  Christian  ladies  of  Bangor  do 
their  part.  I  doubt  if  any  city  in  the  country  did  a  nobler 
work.     God  bless  them  for  it ! 

The  officers  of  the  Bangor  Women's  Temperance  Crusade 
were  Mrs.  M.  Crossman,  president,  assisted  by  the  leading 
ladies  of  Bangor,  among  whom  were  Mrs.  H.  E.  Prentice,  a 
lady  of  large  wealth  and  influence,  and  others  whose  whole 


THE  "PRAYINO  liAND."  467 

hearts  were  in  the  work.  Committees  were  appointed  to  visit 
jails,  etc. ;  and  the  station-house  was  visited  every  morning, 
and  coffee  and  bread  furnished  the  inmates.  The  sick  and 
poor  were  visited  by  them  at  their  homes ;  and  many  a  jioor 
heart  has  felt,  that  though  angel  visits  come  few  and  far 
between,  yet,  in  good  truth,  angels  at  last  had  ministered  to 
them.  The  families  of  men  reforming  were  not  neglected ; 
and,  when  possible,  the  men  themselves  were  procured  employ- 
ment, and  in  many  cases  have  now  become  useful  and  honor- 
able members  of  society.  And  this  was  the  "  praying  band  " 
upon  which  so  r  any  reproaches  and  cruel  words  were  cast. 
This  was  a  sample  of  that  noble  institution,  that,  starting  in 
the  Far  West,  extended  its  influence  to  the  shores  of  the  At- 
lantic, founded  on  the  principles  of  love  and  humanity,  and 
against  which  the  rum  power,  and  in  many  cases  the  rum-sel- 
lers' victims,  directed  the  venom  of  their  spite.  "  Why  don't 
they  stay  at  home,  and  attend  to  their  own  household  duties?" 
"  Why  don't  they  devote  more  time  to  the  reformation  of  their 
own  families ? "  "A  pretty  pack  of  women  to  be  gadding  the 
streets,  and  singing  psalm-tunes  in  low  groggeries  I  "  "  If  I  had 
a  wife  like  that,  I  would  get  rid  of  her  mighty  quick,"  —  and 
all  such  expressions  as  these  were  heard  from  the  enemies  of 
the  movement,  calculated  to  appall  the  stoutest  hearts,  and 
dampen  the  ardor  of  the  most  enthusiastic.  But  they  did 
not  do  so.  Those  engaged  in  the  good  work  knew  no  such 
word  as  "  fail."  Though  reviled,  the}'  pressed  on,  and  by  kind 
acts  sought  to  alleviate  human  misery.  And  by  many  a  bed- 
side have  they  knelt,  and  cheered  the  pathway  of  some  poor 
sufferer  to  the  grave,  and  inspired  in  liim  a  blessed  hope  of 
a  life  beyond  the  tomb.  Many  a  one  with  exulting  voice  can 
say  to-day,  "  To  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  noble  band  of  Tem- 
perance Crusade  women,  I  owe  my  all."  And  their  work,  is 
not  yet  ended.    The  little  seed  dropped  into  the  earth  shall 


468  A   TliinUTE  TO    WOMEN. 

Spring  up  with  abundant  blossom,  and  the  fruit  thereof  shall 
gladden  the  nations.  In  the  annals  of  the  world,  no  nobler 
exhibition  of  moral  and  physical  courage  was  perhaps  ever  ex- 
hibited. The  warriors  of  old  went  forth  to  conquer  by  the 
fire  and  sword;  and  their  path  was  marked  by  ruin,  deso- 
lation, and  the  bones  of  their  victims.  Aggrandizement  and 
power  were  their  only  object,  and  widows  and  orphans  cursed 
the  day  that  severed  them  from  all  they  held  dear.  But  these, 
these  the  pure  and  noble  wcmien  of  the  land,  went  forth  on  a 
mission  of  love,  to  build  up,  and  not  cast  down ;  to  alleviate 
suffering,  and  make  man  api)roach  nearer  to  what  man  should 
be.  Jn  a  quiet,  unassuming  way,  they  approached  the  haunts 
of  vice  and  woe ;  and  sunshine  seemed  to  gild  the  lowest 
places :  and  theirs  shall  be  the  reward,  "  Write  me  as  one  who 
loves  his  fellow-men."  What  grander  mission  can  be  under- 
taken on  this  earth?  What  more  sublime  thought  can  enter 
into  the  conception  of  the  race  ?  And  right  worthily  did  this 
noble  band  prove  that  their  object  was  to  relieve  and  succor. 
Not  only  through  time,  but  through  eternity,  shall  their  works 
be  manifest ;  and  children's  children  shall  rise  up,  and  call 
them  blessed.  Could  a  volume  be  written  of  their  noble  deeds, 
of  their  self-sacrifices,  of  their  devotion  to  the  cause,  the  most 
obdurate  unbeliever  and  opposer  of  the  work  woidd  be  com- 
pelled to  bow  in  reverence,  and  exclaim,  "  Lord,  I  believe : 
help  thou  my  unbelief  I"'  It  is  a  beautiful  thought  to  know 
that  love  and  pity  still  have  an  abiding-place  in  this  earth ; 
that  ministering  angels  still  walk  about  visiting  earth's  poor 
down-hearted ,  and  it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  type  of  the  great  To 
Be,  where  "the  stream  with  gentle  flow  supplies  the  city  of  our 
God."  All  honor,  then,  to  this  noble  organization  I  Long 
may  it  continne  I 

But  perhaps,  in  addition   to   this  general   tribute  to  the 
women's  temperance  work,  the  reader  may  desire  some  more 


TUB  ORIGIN   OF  THE   WOMEN'S  CRUSADE.  469 

definite  and  detailed  information  regarding  its  history.  In 
tliis  case  I  can  gratify  to  Home  extent  his  natural  and  com- 
mendable desire. 

The  credit  of  projecting  the  pinn  of  "The  Woman's  Crusade" 
[says  that  excellent  work,  "  The  Temperance  Reform  and  its  Great 
Reformers,"  which  should  be  in  the  hands  and  in  the  heads  of  all 
those  interested  in  temperance  work]  has  been  given  to  Dr.  Dio 
(Diocletian)  Lewis  of  lioslon,  who  in  his  father's  iiome  expi'riiMioed 
the  miseries  which  intemperance  brings  on  the  family.  His  father 
was  a  drunkard  ;  but  his  mother  was  a  prayerful  «<  man,  whose  trials 
in  bringing  up  her  family,  and  suffering  the  abuses  of  her  husband, 
were  almost  too  much  for  her  endurance. 

Many  a  time  she  went  up  to  the  garret  to  pray  ;  and  the  children 
would  hear  her  crying  out  in  agony  of  spirit,  "How  long,  O  Lord, 
how  long!  how  long!"  When  she  came  down,  the  children  would 
notice  that  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  but  that  her  face  was 
shining  with  light  from  the  other  world. 

Under  such  influences  as  these,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  doctor, 
who  had  become  famous  for  his  system  of  hygienic  training,  should 
carry  the  ideas  of  love  and  hope  along  the  higher  plane,  and  seek  for 
the  salvation  of  men  and  women  from  the  disease  and  death  of  drunk- 
enness, which  in  his  boyhood  had  been  such  a  horror.  He  learned  to 
pray  of  his  mother,  and  grew  up  in  a  high  estimate  of  the  i)0wer  and 
value  of  prayer. 

These  views  he  set  forth  in  public  lectures  in  various  parts  of  the 
West,  organized  tempercince  bands,  draughted  and  presented  appeals 
to  the  whiskej'-sellers,  —  a  method  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of 
Gen.  Putnam  himself,  facing  the  wolf  in  his  own  den. 

As  the  result  of  the  first  week's  work  along  this  line  in  the  town  of 
Dixon,  111.,  thirty-nine  dram-shops  were  closed  ;  and  for  a  time  it  was 
declared  no  liquor  was  sold  in  the  town.  At  Battle  Creek,  Mich.,  the 
same  plan  was  tried  shortly  after,  with  similar  excellent  success. 
The  next  places  which  the  doctor  visited  were  Hillsborough  and 
Washington  court-houses  in  Ohio,  where  he  gave  two  evenings  to  the 


470  "DO   TOU  LIKE  TO  SEE?" 

(liac'iission  of  women's  prnyer-meetinga  in  saloons,  at  the  close  of 
wliicU  tlie  womou  piTHont  ii'solvi'd  to  carry  out  \m  plan. 

"  Wliy  (lid  tlie  woincii  clioow  HUfli  a  stninge  method  of  carrying 
out  tiiis  rcforui?"  asked  one,  wiio  was  amazed  to  see  u  company  of 
women  kneeling  nt  prayer  in  front  of  a  aaloou. 

"  Tiiey  did  not  elioose  it,"  was  the  reply  of  one  of  them  :  "  it  was 
the  work  of  God  marked  out  for  us,  and  we  simply  did  it  according 
to  orders." 

"  Do  you  like  to  see  your  wife  singing  psalms  in  a  saloon?  "  asked 
a  critic  of  the  temperance  movement,  of  a  judge  whose  wife  was  one 
of  the  most  active  and  iiilluential  of  the  crusaders. 

"  No,  my  friend,"  he  replied,  "I  cannot  say  1  do:  but  I  would 
rather  see  my  wife  singing  iiynuis  in  such  a  place,  than  to  see  uiy  sou 
there  singing  bacchanalian  songs;  and  I  have  seen  that." 

"  IJut,"  continued  the  questioner,  *'doyou  like  to  see  your  wife 
kneeling  on  the  dirty  sidewalk,  in  front  of  a  rum-mill,  saying  her 
prayers  ? ' ' 

"  No,  I  cannot  say  that  I  like  to  see  it ;  neither  do  I  like  to  see  my 
son  lyii-g  in  the  gutter  from  the  effects  of  the  stuff  which  he  bougiit 
at  the  rum-mill,  and  I  have  seen  that." 

"  Well,  but,  judge,  do  you  like  to  see  your  wife  marching  along  in 
a  procession,  carrying  a  banner,  and  making  a  fuss  along  the  public 
streets?" 

"  No,"  said  the  judge,  "I  cannot  say  I  like  it :  neither  do  I  like 
to  see  my  son  marching  in  a  procession  of  criminals  on  the  way  to 
prison,  with  chains  al)out  his  hands ;  and  I  have  seen  tiiat." 

This  bona-fide  conversation,  as  given  by  the  evangelist,  Major 
Cole,  who  is  himself  a  reformed  man,  shows  how  great  is  the  sym- 
pathy which  this  crusade  awakened  in  the  minds  of  the  best  people  of 
the  crusade  State  :  tor  rum  does  not  seek  its  victims  among  the  lowly 
and  ignorant  only  ;  but,  like  the  angel  of  death,  the  rum-fiend  "  loves 
a  shining  mark." 

The  following  sketch  of  the  crusade  in'Xenia,  O.,  is  taken  from 
"  Haiper's  Weekly,"  wiiich  gave  the  most  admirable  illustrations  of 
the  movement,  both  by  pen  and  pencil :  — 


-"■^im^^''" 


'The  prayer  continued,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Klein  and  the  baby  "  [p.  471]. 


INVADiya  A   SALOON.  471 

ObBorvinp:  two  lodici  ontoring  a  churdi  (ITiiltod  Proshytt'iiiin,  I 
believo),  I  followcil  tliom,  nntl  found  niyBolf  in  tlio  presence}  of  ubout 
one  tliouHiind  pcrsonH,  uHHi'mhU-il  for  prayer,  and  to  diHOUHH  the  Hub- 
Ject  of  inleiiiperance.  The  pastors  of  the  several  I'rotcHlant  churches 
were  there  witli  their  people;  and  a  feeling  of  Iniinble  dependence 
upon  (iod,  and  a  deep  ChriHtiau  earncHtneHS  in  the  work  before  tlicm, 
seemed  to  prevail  iu  the  heart  of  every  one  present.  After  the  ad- 
journment of  tlie  jjteueral  meeting,  the  ladies  were  called  tf)jjether  by 
Mrs.  Col.  Low,  presiileut  of  the  Ladies'  Temperance  Association, 
who,  after  a  few  remarks,  asked,  "  Who  will  volunteer  to  lead  a  vis- 
iting party  to  Klein's  saloon?" 

Afli'r  a  moment's  pause  a  middle-aged  lady  signified  her  willing- 
ness to  do  so.  She  gathered  alKjut  her  some  eight  or  ten  cjtlicrs,  and 
they  started  off  in  double  iUc  to  beard  Mr.  Klein  iu  his  deu ;  and  I 
went  with  them. 

At  the  door  of  Mr.  Klein's  confectionery  and  toy  store,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  they  filed  ]x)ldly  in,  and  occupied  the  whole 
space  ])etwceii  the  counters,  which  ran  along  three  sides  of  the  room. 

On  the  approach  of  the  ladies,  the  family  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and 
barricaded  tlicmselves  in  a  very  mysterious  ])ack-ioom,  from  which 
issued  a  very  strong  odor  of  highly  flavored  XXX  whiskey,  and  the 
cries  of  a  luiliy  with  very  strong  lungs. 

When  the  ladies  began  to  sing,  "  Shall  wo  gather  at  the  river?" 
the  baby  began  a  loud  and  discordant  solo.  Tlu"^  effect  was  not  at  all 
pleasing.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  hymn,  one  of  the  ladies  began  a 
most  beautiful  and  touching  prayer.  No  sooner  had  she  commenced, 
however,  tlijin  IMrs.  Klein,  no  doubt  feeling  that  her  premises  had 
been  unlawfully  invaded,  shot  out  of  the  back-room  in  fiery  indigna- 
tion, her  bare  arms  revolving  like  the  sails  of  a  wind-mill,  her  hair  on 
end,  and  began  to  pour  forth  such  a  volley  of  abuse  upon  the  ladies, 
that  it  seemed  as  though  she  carried  a  mitrailleuse  in  her  mouth. 

The  prayer  continued,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Klein  and  the  baby. 

"  O  Lord  !  we  come  not  in  our  own  strength." 

"  Shust  kit  out  of  mein  shop,  every  one  of  you :  ye're  a  set  of 
hypocrites ;  das  is  zo." 


472         "  CONVINCING  "  A  MAN  AGAINST  HIS  WILL. 

"We  would  ask  thee  to  bless  this  family:  enlighten  their  undor- 
Btanding,  that  they  may  be  enabled  to  see  the  wrong  of  continuing 
this  unholy  traftic." 

"I  don't  vant  your  brayers.  Ef  I  wants  to  bray,  I  go  to  mein 
own  shurch  to  bray :  I  don't  pelieve  in  such  dings.  Oh,  yes !  Oh, 
yes !  de  Lord  pless  this  family !  Well,  dis  family  kin  git  along 
niitout  sich  brayers  :  the  Lord  don't  hear  dem." 

"  She  will  not  hear  our  words  ;  but  thou,  O  God  !  will  cause  them 
to  enter  her  heart  as  arrows  of  conviction." 

"  Ye're  a  set  of  street- walkers.  Oh,  I  knows  dis  ting  shust  as 
well  as  not !  it  he's  like  the  epysootic :  it  koes  all  around,  and  den 
goes  away  again  ! ' ' 

The  climax  was  reached  when  Klein  himself  rushed  into  the  room, 
bearing  alof*  a  little  parcel,  and  exclaimed  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"Git  out  o'  mein  house  immegutly,  ye  hypocrites!  Do  you  see  dot 
baper?  das  red  pepper  in  dere,  und  I  gives  you  shust  five  miunits  to 
leave  my  shop :  ef  ye  don't,  I  drow  dis  over  ye  !  "  Mr.  Klein,  how- 
ever, refrained  from  carrying  his  threat  into  execution  ;  and  the  ladies 
concluded  their  visitation  in  peace. 

From  Mr.  Klein's  I  proceeded  at  once  to  Mr.  Carroll's  grocery 
and  provision  store.  The  ladies  were  kneeling  on  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  the  door,  engaged  in  prayer.  Two  of  the  party  were  con- 
versing with  Mr.  Carroll,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  with  a  newspaiwr 
in  his  hand,  and  looking  very  much  annoyed,  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Now 
I  give  you  fair  warning.  I've  got  the  names  of  ivery  one  of  ye ; 
and,  if  you  do  not  layp  my  primises  this  instant,  I'll  push  ye  till  the 
furthest  extent  of  the  law.  I'm  not  a  highwayman  or  a  thafe,  that 
you  should  come  makin'  this  nonsense  in  front  of  my  door." 

The  ladies  pleaded  courteously  with  him :  he  wtis  a  good-hearted 
fellow,  and  evidently  got  worsted  in  the  argument.  He  looked  con- 
vinced, and  yet  felt  he  could  not  abandon  the  trade  which  supported 
him  and  his  family  with  such  ease.  After  remaining  for  half  an  hour, 
the  ladies  left  him,  promising  to  return  again  and  again  until  he  would 
yield  to  their  prayers. 

The  work  of  the  crusades  in  Xecia  was  all  the  more  remarkable 


A   TOWN  LIFTED  OUT  OF  ITSELF.  473 

from  the  fact,  that  this  is  a  stroughokl  of  the  United  Presbyter iuu 
Church,  where  all  religious  services  were  always  of  the  most  correct 
and  dignified  style,  and  where  no  religious  songs  were  allowed  except 
the  Psalms  of  David.  This  steady-going  town  was  struck  by  the 
wave  of  the  crusades,  and  fairly  lifted  out  of  its  former  self.  The 
good  women  of  that  church  had  been  taught  that  it  was  a  shame  for  a 
woman  to  soeak  or  pray  in  the  church,  —  a  statement,  in  fact,  which, 
in  the  time  of  the  great  apostle  to  the  Gentiles,  though  not  so  now, 
was  held  to  be  almost  as  binding  as  the  Ten  Commandnients.  But 
now  all  their  former  notions  on  this  subject  were  reversed.  Still, 
they  would  not  sing  any  but  the  good  old  Bible  Psalma.  The  modern 
music,  of  the  Bliss  and  Sankey  style,  was  generally  supposed  to  be  the 
only  sort  that  was  adapted  to  crusading ;  but  the  Xenia  ladies  marched 
to  the  tune  of  "Dundee"  or  "Mear,"  or  "  St.  Martin's  "  or  "  St. 
Ann,"  in  which  the  Psalms  of  the  old  Scotch  version  have  been  so  long 
sung ;  and  these  steady  harmonies  were  blessed  to  the  breaking  of 
stubborn  hearts,  and  the  opening  of  bleared  and  blood-shotteu  eyes, 
no  less  than  the  most  stirring  gospel  songs  of  modern  revival  fame. 

Very  exciting  scenes  followed  this  in  connection  with  the  surrender 
of  the  worst  saloon,  called  the  "Shades  of  Death;"  while  shortly 
after  almost  all  the  rest  closed :  and  now,  it  is  said,  it  is  hard  to  get 
liquor  in  Xenia. 

The  following  incidents  were  reported  in  the  local  papers  at 
the  time,  and  will  serve  as  samples :  — 

There  was  one  saloon  in  Bellefontaine,  where  the  crusaders  were 
responded  to  upon  the  sidewalks  by  fiddling  and  dancing  inside. 
Hour  after  hour  the  women  kept  guard  over  this  house,  singing  and 
praying,  until,  at  last,  the  saloon-keeper  was  ready  to  exclaim,  ia 
the  language  of  the  hymn,  — 

"  And  now  I  yield,  I  yield : 
I  can  hold  out  no  more !  " 

Then,  among  the  ringing  of  the  church-bells,  the  songs  of  thanks- 
giving, shouts  of  rejoicing,  and  tears  of  gladness,  the  beer,  whiskey 


474  "I'LL  GIVE  UP.'' 

brandy,  etc.,  were  poured  out  in  the  streets,  and  the  place  opened  as 
a  meat-market.  One  stubborn  publican  in  Bellefoutaiue  declared, 
that,  if  the  crusaders  visited  him,  he  would  receive  them  with  powder 
and  lead ;  but  the  uuterrifled  women  presently  appeared  before  his 
door,  and  began  to  pray.  About  a  week  afterwards  the  dealer  made 
his  appearance  at  a  public  meeting,  signed  the  pledge,  and  on  the 
following  sabbath,  for  the  first  time  in  five  years,  attended  church. 
Again,  in  Clyde  an  efifort  was  made  to  drown  out  the  crusaders. 
When  the  women  kneeled  in  front  of  one  of  the  saloons,  and  began 
to  pray,  the  keeper  dashed  a  pailful  of  cold  water  into  the  face  of 
one  who  led  in  prayer.  The  woman,  without  stopping  for  an  instant, 
said,  "O  Lord,  we  are  now  baptized  for  thy  work!"  The  water 
treatment  was  repeated  in  various  places,  the  water  not  being  always 
as  clean  as  it  might  be ;  but  the  women  kept  on  praying,  with  more 
faith  and  energy  than  was  manifested  by  the  crusaders  of  old,  and 
with  more  substantial  results  attending  their  movements.  Again, 
the  report  was  yesterday  floating  about  the  city,  that  one  of  tlie  worst 
places  in  Fulton  had  hung  out  the  white  flag,  and  surrendered  to  the 
ladies.     Investigation  proved  the  rumor  to  be  entirely  correct. 

A  band  of  women,  most  of  whom  were  residents  of  the  first  ward, 
started  quite  early  in  the  forenoon  upon  their  round  of  visitation. 
Among  the  first  places  visited  was  the  salooi.  of  Dick  Manley,  on 
tlie  front  street,  two  doors  west  of  Kemper  Lane.  From  some  inci- 
dents in  their  former  visits,  the  ladies  were  led  to  believe  that  the 
proprietor  was  not  wholly  satisfied  with  his  business  ;  but  they  were 
not  expecting  the  easy  triumph  before  them.  Benches  were  care- 
fully arranged  by  the  conscience-stricken  saloouist  for  his  visitors, 
and  devotional  exercises  were  begun. 

The  prayers  and  songs  were  so  simple,  earnest,  and  direct,  that  at 
last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.     As  they  were  about  to  sing,  — 

"  My  faith  looks  up  to  thee," 

he  broke  in  with,  "  Wait  a  little.  I'll  give  up."  He  then  told  the 
ladies  that  his  stock  was  at  their  disposal,  and  he  would  himself  help 
to  pitch  the  vile  stufif  in  the  gutter. 


"BOUND  TO  MAKE  A  CLEAN  TEING  OF  IT."        475 

About  this  time  the  scene  began  to  grow  esciting.  Several  ladies 
buret  into  tears.     An  effort  was  made  to  siug  — 

"Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow," 

but  the  voices  of  the  singers  refused  to  give  utterance  to  the  language 
of  their  heiirts.  Then,  when  they  had  somewhat  recov^aed  them- 
selves, they  set  to  work,  with  beaming  countenances,  to  pour  out  every 
thing  about  the  premises  that  could  moisten  the  throat,  or  malve  glad 
the  heart  of  man.  Beer-barrels  were  rolled  to  the  gutter ;  and,  while 
their  contents  were  gurgling  out  through  the  bungholes,  all  the 
bottles  on  the  shelves  were  brougiit  out,  and  dashed  upon  the  pave- 
ment. After  every  thing  had  been  cleared  out,  the  proprietor  thought 
of  some  fine  old  Catawba  stowed  away  in  the  cellar.  This  was  soon 
hunted  up,  and  shared  the  fate  of  the  rest. 

He  said  he  was  bound  to  make  a  clean  thing  of  it. 

After  the  saloon  had  been  pumped  thoroughly  dry,  the  ladies  went 
into  the  place  adjoining  Mauley's,  where  another  victory  awaited 
them.  The  proprietor  of  the  saloon  was  absent ;  but  his  brother, 
who  was  in  charge,  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  the  women,  signed 
the  total-abstinence  pledge,  and  locked  up  the  concern  forcA'er,  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned.  If  his  brother  wanted  to  open  again,  when  he 
got  back,  he  might  do  it.  The  ladies  then  proceeded  to  several 
other  places,  but  met  with  no  further  apparent  success.  The  gen- 
tlemanly keeper  of  the  Eureka  Exchange  shimmed  the  door  in  their 
faces,  and  retired  to  an  upper  room,  from  which  he  viewed  the  pro- 
ceedings with  a  sardonic  grin. 

In  conversation  with  our  reporter  to-night,  Mr.  Manley  said  he  did 
not  know  what  he  should  go  into  next.  He  had  a  billiard-hall  con- 
nected with  his  saloon,  and  would  carry  that  on  until  soujething 
better  offered. 

He  seemed  resigned  to  his  loss  of  stock,  and  thoroughly  glad  to 
be  out  of  the  business.  The  jokes  and  sneers  of  his  old  friends,  who 
couldn't  see  it  in  that  light,  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  him.  He 
remarked  to  one  of  them,  that,  if  he  owned  all  the  saloons  between 
there  and  Columbia,  the  women  might  have  the  whole  of  them. 


476  WHY  SEVEN  POLICEMEN  ClilED. 

Of  the  cruaack'S  in  Cincinnati,  Mrs.  Leavitt,  wlio  was  one  of  tlie 
leaders  of  that  movement,  ami  now  the  vice-president  of  tlie  Women's 
Cln-istian  Temperance  Union,  gives  tlie  following  account :  — 

"  I  am  often  asked  to  tell  the  story  of  the  crusades  in  Cincinnati, 
but  I  never  can  do  it.  Cincinnati  was  a  hard  field,  with  its  three 
thousand  saloons,  and  its  forty  millions  of  dollars  invested  in  the 
liquor-trade.  So  strong  was  this  interest,  that  merchants  did  not 
like  their  wives  to  engage  in  temperance  work,  for  fear  of  bad  results 
to  their  business  ;  and  at  first  we  had  to  adopt  the  old-fashioned  meas- 
ures. But  at  last,  under  the  baptism  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  we  came  to 
the  conclusion,  that  the  country  method  must  be  our  method ;  and 
for  eight  weeks,  about  seventy  strong,  we  crusaded  the  streets  and 
saloons  after  the  most  vigorous  fashion." 

On  one  occasion  the  women  crusaders  were  arrested  in 
Cincinnati  for  "disturbing  the  peace"  and  "obstructing  the 
streets."     Any  thing  for  a  plea ! 

Of  this  arrest  one  of  the  ladies  arrested  spoke  to  a  reporter 
as  follows :  — 

You  know  we  were  arrested,  and  had  to  go  to  jail.     Just  think 

of  it! 

There  was  a  sidewalk  ordinance  which  forbade  the  obstruction  of 
the  streets,  and  under  that  we  were  arrested ;  though  we  were  careful 
to  use  only  the  two  feet  in  width  the  law  allowed  us  when  we  stood 
in  front  of  a  saloon,  and  sang  at  it,  and  quoted  texts  of  Scripture  at 
it,  and  knelt  down  and  prayed  against  it,  and  for  the  souls  of  those 
who  kept  it. 

The  seven  policemen  who  were  detailed  to  aiTcst  us  were  crying 
like  whipped  children.  But  they  had  to  do  it ;  and  we,  like  good, 
law-abiding  citizens,  submitted,  and  went  in  procession  to  prison,— 
forty-three  of  us,  —  singing  all  the  way. 

We  were  released  after  about  four  hours.  Bail  was  offered  us; 
but  we  refused  it,  on  the  ground  that  we  had  done  nothing  against 
the  law,  and  those  who  arrested  us  should  take  the  full  responsibility 
of  their  outrageous  act. 


CHICAGO'S  SHAME.  477 

The  crusade  prayer-meetings  were  kept  up  after  that  at  the 
churches ;  and  l)y  and  by  we  took  the  rooms  at  200  Vine  Street, 
where  we  liold  a  constant  crusaile.  The  aggregate  attendance  at 
our  women's  temperance  i)rayer-nieeting  for  the  last  six  months  was 
14,009  :  of  tiiese  2,932  signed  tlie  temperance  pledge,  and  sought 
the  prayers  of  Christians  in  their  behalf. 

Chicago,  as  is  well  known,  is  controlled  by  the  liquor  interest,  as 
is  the  case  with  many  another  great  city  ;  but  to  Chicago  belongs  the 
distinguished  disgrace  of  having  maltreated  the  women  crusaders  in 
their  lawful  work.  A  company  of  ladies  were  appointed,  on  one 
occasion,  for  tlie  purpose  of  visiting  the  hall  of  the  city  council,  to 
lay  before  tiiem  a  petition  for  tlie  better  enforcement  of  the  laws 
already  on  the  statute-book.  There  was  no  reason  on  earth  why 
this  petition  should  not  be  granted ;  but  the  liquor-dealers  gathered 
together  a  company  of  lewd  fellows  of  the  baser  sort,  so  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  the  ladies  could  p-  ake  their  way  through  the  crowd 
of  half-drunken  vagabonds.  The  i  lice  were  plentj',  as  they  always 
are  at  such  i)lace3  ;  but  no  arrests  were  made.  And  when  the  com- 
mittee, after  presenting  their  petition,  trusting  in  God  for  their  safety, 
left  the  hall,  the  mob  rudely  set  upon  them  ;  and  the  police  were  actually 
forced  to  take  the  ladies  in  charge,  as  if  they  had  been  prisoners, 
and  conduct  them  by  a  private  way  out  of  the  midst  of  the  crowd. 

Being  discouraged  from  the  hope  of  attaining  any  great  results  by 
law,  they  gave  themselves  up  to  the  more  earnest  use  of  the  gospel, 
and  established  a  meeting  in  the  lower  Farwell  Hall  every  evening. 
The  work  done  here  in  reforming  drunkards,  and  relieving  their 
families,  and  holding  the  fort  for  tenii)erance,  has  been  suiiplemented 
by  the  training  of  a  company  of  Christian  temperance  men  and  women, 
who,  by  means  of  this  gospel  mission,  have  become  acceptable  and 
impressive  temperance  orators,  and  whose  services  are  in  constant 
demand. 

Even  New  York  was  attacked  by  the  women  crusaders,  v.ho 
"  carried  tlie  war  into  Africa,"  and  for  a  while  held  tlieir  meet- 
ings at  Harry  Hill's.     Of  course  the  crusaders  made  an  excite- 


478  WHY  NOT  NEW   YOIiK f  ' 

ment,  a  sensation  at  first;  and  of  course  this  sensation  soon 
died  away,  but  still  much  lasting  good  was  accomplished. 
Hundreds  of  drunkards  were  permanently  reformed ;  and 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  that,  could  a  woman's  crusade  be 
organized  on  a  scale  commensurate  with  the  size  of  the  metrop- 
olis, New  York  itself  could  be  conquered  for  the  temperance 
cause  as  readily  as  Xenia.  Human  nature  is  the  same  all  the 
world  over. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

TEUrSBANCE  WOIIK.  —  ITS  HISTORY  AND  PB0GBK8S.  —  THE  HETnODB  AND 
ACHIEVEMENTS  OF  MY  PBEDECESBOHS  AND  COLLEAGUES  IN  THE  GOOD 
CAUSE. —  THE  BEV.  DBS.  LYMAN  BKECHEH  AND  TIIEODOBE  L.  CUYLEB. — 
THE  WA8UINGTONIAN8.  -  JOHN  D.  QOUOH.  —  FATHER  MATIIEW  AND 
FRANCIS  MURPUY,  ETC. 

•  Here  and  now  it  will  be  proper,  before  proceeding  to  nar- 
rate in  detail  the  story  of  my  own  work  in  the  cause  of 
temperance,  to  glance  at  the  history  of  temperance  work  in 
general,  and  to  describe  briefly,  but  impartially,  the  methods 
and  achievements  of  my  predecessors  and  colleagues. 

As  the  Rev.  Theodore  L.  Cuyler,  D.D.,  himself  one  of  the 
prominent  names  among  the  temperance  workers,  remarks, 
"  America  is  the  birthplace  of  the  modern  Temperance  Reform. 
New- York  State  is  entitled  to  the  place  of  honor  in  the  move- 
ment ;  for,  in  the  county  of  Saratoga  in  that  State  (Saratoga, 
a  nariie  forever  linked  with  the  health-giving  power  of  water\ 
the  first  organization  for  arresting  drinking-habits  by  signing 
a  written  pledge  was  established  some  seventy-five  years  ago." 

Like  every  other  important  movement,  the  temperance  cause 
has  passed  through  successive  stages.  Its  present  status  is 
the  result  of  years  of  steady  development  and  progress. 

In  the  early  Puritan  "blue-law"  times,  drunkenness  was 
punished  severely,  —  among  other  penalties  by  the  pillory,  and 
exposure  of  the  offender  as  a  drunkard  to  public  scorn.  Yet 
wine-bibbing  and  dram-drinking  soon  grew  stronger  than 
the  law;  and  gross  intemperance  became  the  rule,  and  not  the 
escceptiou. 


480  THE   WAfiniNOTONlANS. 

Families  drank,  heads  of  families  drank,  and  even  jndgefl 
and  clergymen  partook  freely.  In  the  days  of  the  Kev.  Lyman 
lieecher,  the  father  of  Henry  Ward  Heecher  and  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe,  "an  ordination  "  was  simply  a  disgrii  d  jnnk- 
eting,  in  which  regularly  "ordained  "  ministers  of  (Jod  figured 
as  more  or  less  intoxicated  men.  This  excited  the  godly  ire  of 
the  Rev.  Lyman  Beecher;  and  he  directed  against  the  drink- 
ing-habits  of  his  day  his  famous  "Six  Sermons  against  Intem- 
perance," which  form  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  powerful 
"  temperance  "  books  in  existence. 

Among  the  earlier  and  important  temperance  agencies  were 
the  Washingtonians,  an  organization  which  liad  a  peculiar 
history. 

Strange  to  say,  the  Washington ian  movement  had  its  origin 
among  six  hard  drinkers  in  a  drinking-den  known  as  "  Chase's 
Tavern  "  in  Baltimore.  These  six  topers  met  every  night  at 
the  tavern,  and  one  night  in  their  cups  fell  to  discussing  the 
Rev.  Matthew  Hale  Smith,  who  was  then  in  Baltimore  deliv- 
ering temperance  lectures. 

The  landlord  of  the  tavern,  taking  part  in  this  discussion, 
used  such  foul  and  insulting  language  in  reference  to  temper- 
ance lecturers  in  general,  and  the  Rev.  Matthew  Hale  Smith 
in  particular,  that  even  the  six  topers  were  induced  to  defend 
the  reverend  gentleman,  and  to  hint  that  the  tavern-keeper 
was  actuated  in  his  remarks  by  "  business,"  not  principle. 

This  made  the  landlord  still  more  intemperate  in  his  abuse ; 
till  finally  it  was  determined  by  the  six  hard  drinkers,  that 
they  would  attend  the  next  lecture  of  the  reverend  gentleman, 
and  judge  of  him  for  themselves.  This  resolution  was  carried 
out;  and  the  result  was,  that  the  six  topers  determined  to 
become  six  non-drinking  men  for  the  future,  and  signed  a 
pledge  requiring  total  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  liquors. 

A  new  place  of  nightly  meeting  was  now  chosen,  —  a  car- 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN   li.   0 DUG II.  481 

penter'8  Hliop  instead  of  a  tavern ;  and  the  six  reformed  men, 
becoming  tlu'mselvHS  reformers,  Hoon  made  converts,  —  among 
them  a  man  named  John  II.  VV.  Hawkins  of  Baltimore,  wliose 
name  soon  l)ecame  identified  with  tliis  phase  of  the  temperance 
movement,  which  has  done  a  world  of  good. 

But  a  greater  man  than  Hawkins  was  "reformed"  by  the 
Washingtonians,  —  John  B.  Gongli,  who  became  the  most 
effective  temperance  orator  or  apostle  the  world  has  yet  seen. 

John  B.  (iough  was  born  in  England  of  humble  parentage, 
and  at  an  early  age  emigrated  to  America.  He  started  out  as 
a  lad  well,  but  soon  "  fell  from  grace,"  and  developed  into  a 
reprobate  and  a  drunkard  ;  joined  a  variety  troop,  and  became 
a  strolling  actor  of  the  lowest  type,  taking  a  perverse  pleasure 
in  burlesquing  sacred  things. 

Low  as  lie  was,  he  was  sinking  lower  and  lower,  till  he  met 
a  Washingtonian,  Joel  Stratton,  or,  rather,  till  the  Washingto- 
nian  met  him,  and  induced  him  to  sign  the  pledge. 

Even  after  he  signed  it,  his  sufferings  were  intense,  from  the 
love  of  alcohol,  the  habit  of  alcohol  already  formed ;  and  two 
or  three  times  he  fell,  and  violated  his  pledge.  But  he  con- 
quered himself  and  habits  at  last,  and  soon  became  the  most 
famous  temperance  orator  of  the  world. 

Mr.  Gough's  eloquence  is  of  a  very  peculiar,  yet  intensely 
magnetic,  kind.  A  German  mechanic  once  said  to  his  em- 
ployer, "  I  goes  to  hear  dot  Meester  Gough  vot  dalks  mit  his 
goatdails."  He  takes  up  a  large  amount  of  space  while  he  talks, 
and  feels  nervous  unless  he  is  talking  on  a  large  platform.  A 
rival  lecturer  once  remarked,  "  Only  let  me  have  a  platform  as 
big  as  Gough's,  and  I  will  draw  as  big.  It  is  not  the  man,  but 
the  platform,  that  does  it."  That  "  rival  lecturer  "  was  subse- 
quently accommodated  with  a  platform  larger  than  any  Gough 
had  ever  used,  yet  he  didn't  "  draw  like  Gough."  It  was  the 
man,  and  not  the  platform,  after  all. 


482  FATHER  MATIIEW. 

The  intense  excitement  wliicli  accompanies  Gough's  oratory 
is  simply  tlie  natural  result  of  his  intense  feeling.  Of  this, 
Mr.  (iough  himself  has  remarked,  "  It  has  been  burned  into 
my  memory  from  years  of  suffering  and  degradation ;  and  I 
do  feel,  and  ever  must  feel,  deei)ly  on  this  question." 

Yet  another  great  name  in  the  liistory  of  temperance  work, 
is  the  ever-blessed  name  of  Father  Mathew.  Tliis  modern 
apostle,  this  latter-day  saint,  was  born  in  the  county  of  Tip- 
perary,  and  was,  therefore,  an  Irishman  of  Irishmen.  He  was 
ever  tender-hearted  and  benevolent,  doing  good  to  all  he  met, 
and  never  going  hunting  or  gunning  or  fishing,  because  he  was 
averse  to  inflicting  pain  on  animals,  or  any  breathing  creature. 
He  became  a  priest  to  please  a  pious  motlier,  and  remained  a 
priest  to  please  himself  and  Heaven. 

He  began  his  public  work  by  founding  an  industrial  school 
for  girls,  and  continued  his  heroic  exertions,  alike  in  the  cause 
of  humanity  and  religion,  especially  in  the  terrible  cholera 
season  in  Cork.  He  then,  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  a 
Quaker,  William  Martin,  undertook  to  lead  the  temperance 
cause  in  Ireland  ,  and  here  he  found  his  place.  Of  all  men  he 
was  the  one  man  best  fitted  for  the  post. 

"  Here  goes,  in  the  name  of  God,"  said  Father  Mathew,  as 
he  approached  the  table  on  the  opening  of  the  first  temperance 
meeting  at  which  he  ever  presided,  signing  his  name,  as  he 
spoke,  to  the  total-abstinence  pledge.  To  my  mind,  his  was 
the  way  in  which  all  temperance  movements  sliould  be  con- 
ducted. There  should  be  the  practical,  tangible  means,  —  the 
pledfje,  —  and  there  should  be  the  sought-for  blessing  of  God 
xipon  the  pledge.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  can  reform  be  posi- 
tively asstired. 

Within  less  than  a  year  from  this  time,  two  hundred  thou- 
«and  Irishmen  had  followed  the  example  of  Father  Miithew. 

He  then  began  a  travelling  temperance-tour  through  Ireland, 


"NO  HE  AD  ACHES  AFTER   DIXNER.'*  483 

and  finally  visited  Scotland  and  England,  meeting  with  equal 
snccesH  in  Edinburgli  and  London. 

Hofore  ho  died,  ho  visited  America,  where  he  was  received 
with  enthusiasm.  He  came  over  to  this  country  in  the  "Ash- 
burton,"  and  on  the  voyage  labored  with  great  results  for  good 
among  the  poor  passengers  in  the  steerage.  Me  landed  in  New 
York  on  July  2,  1849,  and  enjoyed  a  most  entlinwiastic  recep- 
tion at  Castle  Garden.  He  was  formally  welcomed  by  his 
Honor  Mayor  WoodhuU,  who  offered  him  the  hospitalities  of 
the  city. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  a  most  peculiar  spectacle  was 
presented.  A  "  temperance  "  dinner  —  a  dinner  at  which 
there  was  no  wine,  only  water  —  was  tendered  to  Father 
Mathew,  and  partaken  of  by  the  board  of  aldermen.  Ima- 
gine the  feelings  of  the  New- York  aldermen  at  being  compelled 
to  drink  the  water!  But  there  were  no  headaches  after  that 
dinner. 

For  the  next  fortnight  Father  Mathew  held  levees  at  the 
City  Hall,  which  was  daily  thronged  with  all  classes  and 
nationalities.  So  great  were  the  crowds  at  those  temperance 
levees,  that  it  became  necessary  to  set  apart  separate  days  for 
the  receptions  of  females  and  the  receptions  of  males:  over  fifty 
thousiand  persons  signed  the  pledge  during  Father  Mathew's 
visit  to  New  York ,  —  at  least,  a  very  large  number,  though  not, 
I  believe,  definitely  stated. 

Father  Mathew  then  visited  Boston  and  Washington,  being 
in  both  cities  enthusiastically  received ;  and  in  Washington  he 
was  offered  the  very  highest  distinction  that  can  be  paid  to  the 
subject  of  another  country  in  this  country,  —  a  resolution  being 
passed  unanimously  that  Father  Mathew  be  admitted  to  a  seat 
on  the  floor  of  the  House. 

He  finally  left  the  United  States  on  board  the  Collins 
Steamer   "  Pacific,"   having  issued  an  appropriate   "  farewell 


484  THE  HEi)-iiiunoN  hkfoum  clubs. 

tuh'resH."  IIIh  lunt  dayH  wer6  ipant  in  nuirh  perHotml  suflurin^;, 
bi'Dii^ht  on  by  IiIh  arduous  laborn  in  tiie  tcnipitrancu  i-auHo.  llu 
passed  tu  Ills  ruward  in  tiie  sixty-sixth  year  of  liis  age,  dying 
tiiu  death  of  tliu  rigliteous,  as  lie  lived  the  li/'e.  If  ever  a  man 
left  the  world  better  than  hu  found  it,  that  man'tt  name  was 
Father  Mathew.  His  statue  stands  in  the  uity  of  Cork,  and 
his  memory  will  live  till  the  last  trunip. 

One  of  the  chief  workers  in  the  teniperance  cause  was  Dr. 
Reynolds  of  Maine,  the  fatiier  of  the  Red-ribbon  Reform  Clubs. 

Henry  A.  Reynolds  was  born  of  well-to-do  parents  in  Uaugor, 
Me. ;  studied  medicine,  and  took  to  drinking,  becoming  both  a 
doctor  and  a  drunkard.  Hut,  after  a  terrible  experience  wilii 
alcohol,  he  reformed,  and  became  a  reformer  of  others. 

He  believes  in  the  grace  of  God  first,  and  then  in  the  means 
of  grace  ;  and  among  these  "  means  "  he  places  the  pledge,  and 
a  red  ribbon  as  a  sign  of  the  pledge,  —  "  an  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace,"  to  us-e  the  words  of  the 
catechism.  The  idea  of  this  red  ribbon  occurred  to  the  doctor 
accidentally,  but  was  at  once  utilized  by  him.  It  means  pre- 
cisely no  less  and  no  more  tlian  the  uniform  means  to  the 
soldier.  The  uniform  don't  and  can't  make  a  soldier,  but 
every  soldier  will  acknowledge  the  usefulness  of  a  uniform. 

All  over  the  Union,  alike  in  Massachusetts  and  Michigan, 
the  Red-ribbon  Clubs  are  institutio'is,  and  Dr.  Reynolds's  name 
is  a  tower  of  strength. 

And  now  we  come  to  Francis  Murphy,  who  has  done  a  noble 
work  in  gospel  temperance.  Francis  Murphy  was  born  in  Ire- 
land of  humble  parents.  Emigrated  when  a  lad  to  this  coun- 
try. Tried  farming;  married.  Led  a  sober,  industrious  life 
for  a  while,  and  then  took  to  dissipated  courses,  and,  in  con- 
junction with  his  brother,  kept  a  tavern  in  Portland,  Me.  He 
patronized  his  own  bar  liberally,  and  gradually  sank  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  degradation.    Finally  he  committed  a  crime 


FRANCIS  MURPnY.  486 

which  led  to  hifl  iinprisoDtnoiit.  Tie  liiul  fallen  na  low  an  man 
ran  fall. 

Hut  God  has  raised  him  as  hiph  as  man  can  rwo,  to  bo  a  hone- 
factor  to  his  fcllow-iuon.  And  Heavon's  agent  in  this  olpvation 
was  Capt.  Cyrus  Sturdivant,  the  ex-nianuger  of  a  coastiui^'-iino 
of  steamers  which  sail  from  the  harhor  of  Portland,  and  a  truly 
devout  and  (Jod-fearing  miin.  This  man  met  Murphy  in  jail, 
and  by  his  kindness  saved  him  from  despair,  and  led  him  to 
Christ.  And  then  Capt.  Sturdivant  procured  Murphy's  release 
from  jail,  and  led  him  to  his  family.  Hut  his  heart-broken  wife 
died  soon  after  his  release,  and  Murphy  was  a  while  in  des[)air. 
Hut  there  was  a  work  for  him  to  do,  and  he  did  it.  And  to-day 
he  stands  prominent  among  the  men  who  have  blessed  their 
fellow-men.  In  every  large  city  in  the  Union,  and  abroad  as 
well  as  in  this  country,  the  name  of  Francis  Murphy,  the  evan- 
gelist of  gospel  temperance,  is  a  household  word. 

In  connection  with  gospel  temperance,  Mr.  D.  L.  Moody 
must  also  be  mentioned.  True,  ho  has  never  professed  to  be 
directly  a  temperance  advocate;  but,  believing  intemperance 
to  be  a  great  sin,  he  has  preached  and  prayed  against  it,  and 
thus  endeared  himself  to  all  true  temperance  men  and 
women. 

The  names  of  Edward  Murphy,  Clark  Wilson,  Mrs.  Wilson, 
and  Hon.  Luther  Caldwell,  must  also  be  mentioned  in  this 
chapter,  as  having  been  the  effective  co-workers  of  Francis 
Murphy. 

Thomas  W.  Pittman,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  is  also  justly  en- 
titled to  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  catalogue  of  temperance 
orators  and  advocates.  Mr.  Pittman  has  been  all  his  life 
thoroughly  conversant  with  life  in  New  York,  and  has  given 
the  world  the  benefit  of  his  experience  in  his  celebrated 
"Lecture  on  Crooked  People."  He  was  also  identified  promi- 
nently with  the  Murphy  revival  in  New  York. 


486  BODGE,   GIBBS,  ETC. 

There  are  other  names  which  press  for  honorable  mention, 
such  as  the  late  Hon.  William  E.  Dodge,  merchant,  Cln-istiau, 
philanthropist,  and  president  of  the  National  Temperance  Pub- 
lication Society  of  New  York,  —  an  institution  which  has  done 
and  is  doing  a  world  of  good ;  John  N.  Stearns,  Esq.,  the 
secretary  of  the  publication  society ;  the  late  Charles  Jewett, 
M.D.,  a  distinguished  advocate  of  the  medical  side  of  the  tem- 
perance reform;  E.  C.  Delevan;  Rev.  Charles  N.  Fowler,  the 
editor  of  "The  Christian  Advocate,"  and  author  of  the  grand 
address  on  "The  Impeachmeat  of  King  Alcohol;"  the  re- 
formed and  reforming  "rough,"  "Jerry"  McAuley ;  Mrs.  Mary 
T.  Lathrop,  the  temperance  revi'v  alist ;  Charles  W.  Sawyer, 
Moody's  valued  assistant  in  gospel  temperance  work;  and  the 
ladies  of  the  Women's  Temperance  Union. 

Nor  could  I  conclude  this  imperfect  sketch  of  temperance 
work  and  workers,  without  at  least  a  reference  to  the  well- 
known  and  energetic  J.  B.  Gibbs,  Esq.,  of  the  Alderney  Dairy, 
New  York. 

This  gentleman  is  at  once  a  business  man,  Christian  temper- 
ance man,  and  philanthropist,  and  is  doing,  has  been  doing, 
and  as  long  as  he  lives  will  be  doing,  a  good  and  practical 
and  steady  work.     And  that  is  the  kind  of  work  that  tells. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A   TRIBUTE    OF    OBATITUDE.  —  IN    MEMOBIAM    OF    THOSE    WHO    HAVE    BE- 
FKIKNDED  ME.  —  A  LONG  LIST  OF   GOOD  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

Having  now  completed  the  story  of  my  life,  from  my  birth, 
througli  my  happy  boyhood,  and  checkered  manhood,  with  all 
its  lights,  and,  alas !  all  its  shades,  its  straggles,  its  miseries,  its 
errors,  and,  I  trust,  its  ultimate  triumph ;  and  having  glanced 
at  the  works  and  achievements  of  others  who,  like  me,  have 
reformed  themselves,  or  have  endeavored  to  reform  others ; 
before  proceeding  to  the  direct  detail  of  my  recent  experiences 
as  a  recognized  temperance  advocate,  —  I  would  take  this 
opportunity  of  testifying  my  gratitude  to  a  few  of  the  many 
who  have,  in  my  battle  of  life,  befriended  and  assisted  me  in 
various  ways.  It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  made 
warm  friends.  It  has  also  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  re- 
ceived unlooked-for,  undeserved  kindnesses  from  comparativf., 
or  even  ntter,  strangers.  And  I  never  can  be  sufiBciently  grate- 
ful to  my  benefactors,  and  to  the  Giver  of  ill  good,  who  put 
it  in  their  hearts  to  befriend  me.     I  fear,  in  tnis  wr.id,  I  may 

3vor  e  able  to  repay  them ;  but,  God  bless  them !  they  did 
what  t  3y  did  without  hope  or  expectation  of  reward,  impelled 
only  by  a  sense  of  duty,  and  their  own  kind  hearts.  Still,  I 
can  at  least,  in  this  place,  acknowledge  my  obligation;  and 
I  feel  confident  that  my  readers  will  pardon  me  for  digressing 
thus  from  my  direct  narrative  to  do  so.  Surely  the  world,  or 
that  portion  of  it  which  has  favored  me  by  perusing  this  book, 
ifrill  not  think  the  wor&e  of  me  for  being  grateful. 

487 


488  "SUBSTANTIAL"   FRIENDSniP. 

In  writing  this  book,  I  am  aware  I  have  laid  myself  open  to 
criticism  by  my  frequent  use  of  names  of  individuals  with 
whom  I  luive  come  into  contact :  but,  without  this  course,  I  felt 
that  it  would  not  be  a  correct  version  of  my  life  ;  and  therefore 
I  have  been  explicit  on  this  point.  The  nature  of  this  book 
will  not  admit  of  my  mentioningr  all  the  names  of  persons  that 
have  befriended  me,  but  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  speak  of  some  of 
those  who  have  directly  aided  me  in  my  darkest  hours.  In  a 
previous  chapter,  I  spoke  of  one  who  went  my  bonds  on  the 
occasion  of  my  first  lecture  at  Tremont  Temjjle,  when  I  was 
arrested  for  debt,  and  stated  that  some  future  reference  would 
be  matle  to  him.  His  name  is  Mr.  J.  G.  Pierce,  formerly  of 
25  Howard  Street,  Boston.  He  paid  from  his  own  pocket 
all  the  bills  that  I  was  compelled  that  night  to  meet.  Kind 
reader,  you  may  question  why  he  did  this:  I  will  answer;  I 
will  be  brief,  and  to  the  point.  I  had  sold  him  a  book  during 
my  canvassing,  and  had  requested  him  to  aid  me  in  business 
matters,  giving  him  what  I  considered  as  collateral.  The  time 
for  my  lecture  having  come,  I  told  him  that  I  lacked  the  means 
of  carrying  it  through,  not  for  the  moment  anticipating  that 
he  would  aid  me.  To  my  great  surprise  he  said  that  he  fully 
indorsed  my  course,  and  he  came  up  to  the  Temple.  He  did 
not  realize  at  the  time  to  what  extent  he  had  indorsed  me.  He 
stood  by  me  that  night :  aiul,  had  it  not  been  for  him,  I  should 
have  slept  in  the  station-house ;  as  the  oflficers  would  have  been 
compelled  to  carry  me  off,  had  I  not  given  bonds.  Reader, 
would  you  not  consider  it  your  duty  to  speak  of  a  man  who  had 
thus  befriended  3'ou  ?  Of  course,  I  do  not  say  that  there  was 
no  other  philanthropist  in  Boston,  who,  if  he  had  known  my  real 
condition,  would  not  have  aided  me ;  but  this  gentleman  hap- 
pened to  be  the  right  man  in  tlie  right  place.  I  knew  nothing 
of  his  habits  or  his  previous  character,  but  he  was  a  friend  to 
me  in  my  hour  of  need ;  aiid  such  friendships  are  substantial.* 


A  KIND  ACT.  489 

Among  those  who  have  claims  upon  my  lasting  gratitude, 
an  honored  place  must  be  given  to  a  prominent  man  already 
referred  to  in  the  preceding  chapter, —John  li.  Gough,  Esq., — 

the  CHAMVION  OF  CHAMPIONS,  AND,  WITHOUT  ANY  POSSIBILITY 
OF  CAVIL,  THE  GKPCATEST  TEMPERANCE  LECTUREK  OF  THE  AGE. 

On  one  memorable  occasion,  this  unparalleled  orator  and 
temperance  advocate  performed  a  special  act  of  courtesy  in  my 
behalf,  which  was  productive  of  the  utmost  benefit.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  man. 

I  once  needed,  particularly  needed,  a  friend.  It  was  a  hard 
time  with  me.  Mr.  Gough  saw  it  at  a  glance.  In  conversation 
with  me,  he  said,  "  Come  to  Tremont  Temple  to-night."  The 
occasion  was  a  great  temperance  mass-meeting.  Ex- Gov. 
Talbot  presided.  John  B.  Gough  was  the  orator  of  the  night. 
I  was  requested  to  take  a  seat.  I  did.  so.  And  finally  the 
governor,  at  Mr.  Gough's  request,  called  aloud  fur  me  to  come 
from  the  audience,  and  be  seated  with  them  upon  the  platform. 
T  was  assigned  one  of  the  only  three  high-backed  chairs  upon 
the  great  platform,  the  governor  and  Mr.  Gough  occupying 
the  other  two.  That  kind  act,  simple  in  itself,  was  the  means 
of  immediately  giving  me  a  high  and  lasting  prestige. 

The  Hon.  Neal  Dow,  the  father  of  the  famous  Maine  Liquor 
Laws,  which,  after  all  said  and  done,  remain  the  best  laws  yet 
promulgated  on  the  litpior  traflSc,  has  also  shown  me  great 
kindnesses.  The  famous  clergymen,  Rev.  Dr.  Theodc^re  L. 
Cuyler,  and  Rev.  Dr.  Justin  D.  Fulton,  have,  in  their  way, 
done  me  the  greatest  obligations  by  bestowing  upon  me  their 
professional  and  personal  indorsement,  and  lecturing  for  me, 
and  in  behalf  of  my  work. 

To  the  long  list  of  those  to  whom  I  owe  love  and  gratitude 
for  favors  unexpected  and  unpaid  for,  save  in  gratitude  and 
love,  I  would  here  add  the  names  of  Miss  A.  A.  Jennings  of 
Rochester,  N.Y.,  who  befriended  me  in  my  time  of  great  dis- 


490  MY  MANY  FRIENDS. 

tress,  and  who  has  befriended  many  another  desperate  and 
despairing  fellow-mortal ;  Rev.  George  J.  Mingins,  tlio  eloquent 
divine  of  New  York ;  Mrs.  E.  A.  Rawson  of  North  Grosvenor- 
dale,  whose  heart  has  ever  been  ready  and  eager  to  help  those 
honestly  desiring  to  help  themselves ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dr.  S.  C. 
Carter  of  Liberty,  Ind.,  who  are  noted  for  their  Christian  phi- 
lanthropy; E.  J.  Smith,  Esq.,  of  Washington,  D.C.;  Charles 
A.  Webster,  Esq.,  W.  E.  Sherman,  and  H.  S.  Woodworth,  Esq., 
of  Providence,  R.I. ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  C.  Post  of  Burlington, 
Vt.,  the  father  and  mother  of  my  beloved  wife,  whom  I  am 
about  to  introduce  to  my  readers,  and  who  have  been  as  truly 
and  practically  solicitous  concerning  my  own  welfare  and  work 
as  though  they  were  my  own  parents,  not  merely  my  wife's ; 
Thomas  W.  Pittman,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  the  eloquent  orator 
and  lecturer  and  able  law3'er ;  Mr.  Francis  Murphy,  the  great 
apostle  of  temperance ;  Miss  Frances  E.  Willard,  the  able  and 
zealous  lady  president  oi  the  Women's  National  Christian 
Temperance  Union;  Benjamin  R.  Jewell,  Esq.,  of  Boston, 
Mass. ;  Hon.  T.  R.  Westbrooke,  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  State  of  New  York ;  Right  Rev.  William  Bond,  bishop 
of  Montreal,  P.Q. ;  Dr.  Isaac  N.  Quimby,  a  prominent  philan- 
thropist and  distinguished  physician  of  Jersey  City,  N.J. ; 
Rev.  Dr.  Bixby ;  Rev.  C.  L.  Goodell ;  Rev.  Dr.  G.  W.  An- 
derson;  Rev.  Moses  B.  Scribner;  Rev.  John  Evans;  Rev.  R. 
Montague;  Rev.  Francis  Ryder  of  Rhode  Island;  his  Excellency 
Nelson  Dingley,  jun.,  Ex-Governor  of  the  State  of  Maine ;  Wen- 
dell Phillips,  Esq.,  of  Boston,  so  widely  and  favorably  known ; 
Dr.  Dix,  oculist  and  aurist.  Hotel  Pelham,  Boston  ;  Dr.  A.  J. 
French  (President  Lawrence  National  Bank)  and  lady  of  Law- 
rence ;  J.  C.  Bowker  and  lady  of  Lawrence ;  Hon.  Charles 
Parker  of  Meriden,  Conn. ;  R.  C.  Bull,  Esq.,  P.  M.  W.  T.  of  H. 
and  T.,  New- York  City ;  Hon.  E.  W.  Stetson,  Damariscotta, 
Me. ;  Capt.  Guy  C.  Goss  of  Bath,  Me. ;  Frank  Dingley,  Esq., 


.■MliS.    KHANCKS    I'KAKSKN. 


STILL  MORE  FRIENDS.  491 

of  Lewiston;  H.  M.  Bryant,  Esq.,  of  Lewiston;  Charles  H. 
Taiuter,  Esq.,  President  Auburn  lleform  Club  ;  C.  H.  Wood- 
worth  and  fiinuly  of  Dalton,  Mass. ;  Forester  Clark  and  family 
of  Pittsfk'ld,  Mass.;  Rev.  J.  W.  Hamilton,  Mrs.  David  II.  Bartou 
and  family,  of  Boston  ;  Frank  W.  Lucas,  Esq.,  of  Providence ; 
James  M.  Palmer,  J.  P.  Yates,  II.  II.  Jones,  and  their  families, 
of  Haverhill,  Mass.;  his  Honor  E.  P.  Ilodsden,  ex-mayor  of 
Dover,  N.H. ;  Hon.  J.  Horace  Kent  of  Portsmouth,  N.H.;  his 
Honor  Ex-Mayor  Warren  of  Biddeford,  Me.;  City  Marshal 
Durgin  of  Saco,  Me.;  Edward  A.  Cass,  Esq.,  G.  W.  C.  T.  of 
the  Temple  of  Honor  of  Maine  ;  Hon.  Joshua  Nye  of  Augusta; 
L.  W.  Filkins,  Esq.,  of  New  York ;  William  Apploton,  jun., 
of  Boston ;  also  G.  W.  Butts,  Esq.  (Chace  &  Butts,  bankers), 
W.  Sweeney,  Esq.,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  N.  Ramsden,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Charles  II.  Robinson,  Mr.  T.  J.  Fales,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  H.  Ray- 
nor,  Col.  Frank  G.  Allen,  Ex-Mayor  A.  C.  Barstow,  George  A. 
Barstow,  Esq.,  Deputy-Sheriff  C.  H.  Scott,  J.  B.  Gardiner,  Esq., 
Mrs.  Lucy  M.  Dickinson,  Mrs.  Annie  M.  Branch,  daughter  of 
the  late  Dr.  Mowrey,  Mrs.  R.  II.  White,  all  of  Providence,  R.I. ; 
Rev.  L.  II.  Wakeman,  William  F.  Peebles,  Esq.,  Mrs.  Robinson 
of  Stamford,  Conn.;  Mrs.  Maria  C.  Treadwell,  President  W. 
C.  T.  U.  of  Conn. ;  also  Mr.  Treadwell,  her  husband.  Nor  can 
I  forget  Mrs.  J.  A.  Powers,  now  Mrs.  Asa  B.  Hutchinson  of 
the  famous  Hutchinson  family  of  singers,  then  the  proprietress 
of  the  house  where  I  boarded  in  Bangor  at  No.  125  Hammond 
Street.  To  her,  her  family,  and  all  the  boarders  in  the  house, 
I  feel  under  the  deepest  obligations ;  for,  when  I  was  sadly  in 
need  of  (I  must  confess  it)  clothing,  they  sent  it  to  me  in  a 
most  delicate  manner.  I  would  also  make  special  mention  in 
this  place  of  Mrs.  Frances  Fearson  (colored),  who  was  a  true 
and  truly  Christian  benefactress  of  mine,  as  the  subjoined  story 
will  show :  — 

One  day,  after  a  terrible  debauch,  feeling  sick  and  sore,  I  was 


492  NURSED  AND  CARED  FOR. 

wandering  tho  streets  of  Providence  in  rnin,  sleet,  and  slush, 
and  by  accident  found  myself  in  this  good  woman's  house.  I 
had  nothing  but  a  faded  duster  and  an  old  nnder  garment  to 
battle  the  elements  with ;  and  this  poor  woman  would  not  let 
me  go  out,  but  fed  and  cared  for  me.  I  was  sick  one  whole 
week  in  her  house,  and  she  nursed  and  cared  for  me  as  if  I 
were  her  own  child.  I  can  never,  I  shall  never,  forget  the 
kindness  of  this  good  woman.     Long  may  she  live ! 

I  could  also  mention  the  names  of  hundreds  of  other  persons 
who  befriended  me,  but  I  must  stop  somewhere.  All  who 
have  ever  been  kind  to  me,  whether  named  here  or  not,  will 
please  accept  my  gratitude.  If  their  names  are  omitted,  it  is 
the  fault  of  my  diary,  and  not  my  heart ;  so  pardon  the  over- 
sight. I  must  state,  in  conclusinn,  that  my  mentioning  these 
names  is  of  ray  own  free  will,  and  totally  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  any  of  the  parties ;  and,  if  any  one  should  feel  a  delicacy 
about  being  thus  mentioned,  they  must  attribute  it  to  my  sense 
of  the  obligations  I  am  under  to  them,  and  to  nothing  else. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

MY  BEST  PRIKND.  —  now  I  WOOED  AND  WON  MY  WIFK. — I  OnKY  AN  IRBE- 
SISTinr.E  IMl'fLME,  AND  MEET  MY  FATK.  —  A  SHOUT,  8WKKT  LOVE-STOUY. 
—  I  LINK  MY  LIFE  WITH  A  OOOU  WOMAN. 

My  last  chapter  was  devoted  to  my  friends,  —  friends  in  the 
plural.  The  present  chapter  shall  be  devoted  to  my  one  best 
friend,  —  MV  wife. 

For  I  have  a  wife,  and  I  thank  God  for  it.  Her  dear  eyes 
are  looking  over  my  shoulder  now,  as  I  write ;  and  her  dear  head 
shakes,  and  her  dear  face  almost  frowns,  or  comes  as  near  as  it 
can  (which  is  not  very  close)  to  frowning,  as  she  insists  that  I 
shall  omit  all  mention  of  her  in  this  book. 

The  idea  of  such  a  thing  I  The  bare  idea  of  a  man  writing 
his  life,  and  leaving  out  his  wife  !  Did  you  ever?  The  thing 
is  an  absurdity :  it  is  impossible.  Hamlet  with  Hamlet  omitted 
would  be  nothing  to  it. 

No,  a  thousand  times  no!  I  might  be  induced  to  omit 
almost  any  other  portion  of  my  bio^^-raphy,  but  not  the  por- 
tion in  which  she  figures ;  for  she  is  the  best  part  of  my  life. 
In  sheer  simi)le  justice  to  her,  I  must  tell  about  her  —  and  in 
justice  to  myself. 

For  the  most  complimentary  thing  that  can  be  said  about  me 
is,  that  /  am  her  husband.  That  fact  speaks  volumes  for  the 
good  that  must  be  somewhere  in  me.  I  have  been  frank 
enough,  as  my  readers  will  be  ready  to  testify  by  this  time, 
in  regard  to  all  my  faults,  my  follies,  my  shames :  let  me,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  have  all  the  benefit  of  the  good  sense  I  have 


494  "BUIiLINGTOy  ON  TUB  liRAIN." 

shown  in  wooing  Buch  n  woman,  tlie  good  luck  I  have  had  in 
winning  nnvh  a  woman,  and  the  good  that  has  bocn  in  mo  to 
enable  me  to  wear  snch  a  woman,  and  appreciate  Iier  as  she 
deserves.  It  was  a  love-match :  and,  as  "  all  the  world  loves  a 
lover,"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it ;  though  there  is  not  much 
to  tell. 

While  I  was  talking  temperance  in  New  England,  in  the  year 
1875  (I  shall  never  forget  that  year),  I  sent  my  agent,  Mr. 
Thomas  J.  Pressey,  to  the  pretty  little  town  of  IJurlington,  Vt., 
to  make  arrangements  to  secure  a  hall  for  a  lecture.  I  never 
have  been  able  to  explain  to  myself  satisfactorily  why  ;  but  the 
fact  is,  that  I  had  always  felt  a  great  desire  to  visit  Burlington, 
Vt.  I  had  no  special  reason  for  this  desire  ;  but  I  felt  it  strongly, 
nevertheless.    Was  it  not  Destiny  —  Kismet  —  Providence  ? 

My  agent  returned  with  the  news,  that  it  had  proved  un- 
practical for  him  to  procure  me  a  satisfactory  date  at  Burling- 
ton. He  had  done  his  level  best,  but  had  not  been  able  to 
arrange  matters. 

This  should  have  settled  the  matter.  I  should  have  at  once 
dismissed  Burlington,  Vt.,  from  my  thoughts  and  plans.  I  had 
every  confuhnice  in  my  agent.  I  knew  that  he  had  do!ie  all 
that  man  could  do  to  carry  out  my  wishes,  and  had  failed, 
simply  because  my  wishes  could  not  be  carried  out.  In  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  I  would  have  dismissed  the  affair 
with  a  "  Very  well,  I  will  go  somewhere  else."  But  this  was 
the  one-hundredth  case.  I  did  not  go  somewhere  else ;  but  I 
went  straightway  to  Burlington,  Vt.,  myself,  though  it  was  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  away  from  the  place  where  I  was  then 
lecturing. 

My  agent  wondered  at  my  taking  "such  a  notion  to  Burling- 
ton," as  he  phrased  it,  and  remonstrated  with  me ;  but  I  was 
headstrong.  I  had  literally  "Burlington  on  the  brain"  just 
then;  and  to  Burlington  I  went,  arriving  there  safely.    I  had 


LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT.  496 

been  filled  with  all  sorts  of  vngue,  wild,  restloHs  idi'us  about 
what  I  would  do  when  I  got  to  Burlington  ;  but,  when  I  got 
there,  these  dreams  vanished :  and  I  proceeded  at  once,  in  the 
most  practical  way,  to  endeavor  to  do  what  my  agent  had 
failed  to  do,  —  secure  a  hall. 

By  a  lucky  chance,  I  succeeded  in  my  attempt.  An  obstacle 
which  had  noni)lu«sed  my  agent  was  gotten  over  by  myself; 
and  I  obtained  the  leading  hall  of  the  place,  and  was  advertised 
to  address  the  good  people  of  Burlington,  Vt.,  the  very  next 
night. 

The  "very  next  night"  came,  and  with  it  a  crowd.  I  was 
in  high  spirits,  and  my  lecture  was  a  success :  I  felt  it ;  I  saw 
it.  I  also  saw,  during  my  lecture,  two  ladies  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  hall,  one  of  whom,  the  taller  one  of  the  two, 
was  watching  my  delineation  of  the  horrors  of  delirium  tremens 
with  mingled  admiration  and  disgust,  —  admiration,  I  flatter 
myself,  of  the  lecturer,  but  disgust  at  this  phase  of  his  subject. 
From  the  moment  I  saw  that  taller  lady  of  the  two,  standing 
in  the  doorway,  my  doom  was  sealed.  I  felt  it.  I  felt  a  thrill 
ecstatic  and  indefinable.  But  there,  I  spare  my  reader  any 
more  of  this.  I  fell  in  love,  —  love  at  first  sight.  I  have 
always  been  convinced  tliat  "  the  taller  lady  of  the  two  "  felt 
towards  me,  from  the  very  first,  as  I  felt  towards  her,  —  that 
she,  too,  felt  that  "  thrill,  ecstatic  and  undefinable,"  when  she 
first  set  ej'es  on  me.  But  to  this  day  she  has  refused  to  give 
me  definite  information  on  this  important  point.  Such  is 
woman ! 

Well,  after  the  lecture  I  was  introduced  to  several  of  the 
ladies  of  Burlington  who  had  been  present,  and,  among  them, 
to  the  "  taller  lady  of  the  two,"  who  had  excited  such  a  com- 
motion in  my  breast.  She  bowed  and  smiled.  I  smiled  and 
bowed.     And  the  first  all-important  step  was  taken. 

We  tJilked  about  the  temperance  cause  and  my  lecture,  etc. : 


496  ''SUCH  A  DELIGHTFUL    UNSETTLED  STATE." 

and  it  was  arranged,  as  I  was  to  lecture  in  Burlington  another 
night,  that  the  lady,  the  particular  lady,  the  "taller  lady  of 
the  two,"  the  woman  who  had  already  become  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  to  me,  would  honor  me  by  assisting  at  my  next 
lecture  ;  she  being  an  accomplished  vocalist,  and  excellent 
musician. 

This  much  being  settled,  we  separated  for  the  night. 
Whether  my  particular  lady  dreamed  of  me  that  night,  or 
not,  I  know  not.  As  1  have  just  remarked,  she  has  always 
been  reticent  on  all  these  preliminary  details,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned.  But  this  I  know  and  can  testify,  that  I  dreamed 
all  night  of  her,  and  awoke  in  the  morning  more  in  love  than 
before. 

Burlington,  Vt.,  is  a  very  pretty  and  picturesque  place  in- 
deed, —  one  of  the  most  charming  towns  in  all  New  England, 
—  and  possesses  a  public  park  of  great  beauty.  I  rose  early,  and 
walked  all  through  the  town,  and  felt  somehow  as  if  this  pretty 
little  place,  which  I  had  never  visited  before,  was  already 
identified  with  my  life. 

Needless  to  say,  I  met  my  charmer  that  day  for  the  second 
time,  and  a  rosebud  passed  between  us;  and  at  my  next  lecture 
there  was  some  singing ;  but  really,  whether  the  rosebud 
passed  from  me  to  her,  or  from  her  to  me,  or  whether  she 
sung  and  I  spoke,  or  she  spoke  and  I  sung,  has  always 
remained  in  my  memory  doubtful.  I  was  in  such  a  trance 
all  the  time,  —  such  a  delightful  unsettled  state  of  "  first 
love." 

But  I  distinctly  remember  what  occurred  on  the  third  day 
of  my  tarry  in  Burlington.  The  woman  I  knew  I  loved,  and 
made  no  secret  to  myself  about  it,  was  announced  to  sing  at 
some  "benefit  concert;"  and,  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  veranda 
of  my  hotel,  she  passed  along  on  her  way  to  rehearsal. 

Of  course,  I  merely  rose  fcom  my  seat,  and  bowed  politely,  — 


"I  TOLD  HEE  ALL."  497 

of  course,  —  and  then  went  into  the  liotel,  leaving  her  to  walk 
to  rehearsal  alone.  Of  course,  eveiy  man  in  love  would  have 
done  just  that. 

But  enough  of  badinage.  Love  is,  after  all,  a  serious  thing, 
—  as  serious  as  it  is  sweet ;  and  I  was  desperately  as  well  as 
delightfully  in  earnest. 

Making  no  disguise  of  my  joy  at  meeting  hor,  I  joined  the 
lady ;  and,  before  that  walk  was  over,  I  had  proposed,  and  been 
accepted.  > 

That  day  is  the  best  and  brightest  day  that  I  have  ever 
known,  —  the  brightest  and  best  day  I  shall  ever  know  on 
earth,  —  a  day  of  heaven. 

We  walked  amid  as  lovely  scenery  as  this  world  contains, 
with  the  placid  waters  of  Lake  Champlain  and  the  beauties  of 
the  Park  in  sight.  But  it  would  have  been  all  the  same  to 
me  if  I  had  been  strolling  through  the  orange-groves  of  Flor- 
ida, or  the  mountain  glories  of  Switzerland,  or  the  old  temples 
of  eternal  Egypt,  or  the  splendors  of  mighty  Rome.  I  saw 
but  my  companion's  face.  I  had  no  eyes  but  for  her  eyes,  I 
had  no  ears  but  for  her  voice. 

Though,  to  tell  the  truth,  her  eyes  were  modestly  downcast ; 
and  she  said  but  little.     But  I  talked  for  two. 

I  had  much  to  tell ;  for,  with  my  usual  directness  of  purpose, 
I  determined  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  all  my  past  life.  I 
determined  there  should  be  perfect  confidence  as  well  as  per- 
fect love  between  us.  I  resolved  that  no  secret  should  stand 
between  us,  now  or  evermore.  If  there  were  dark  passages  in 
my  past  life,  as,  alas !  there  were,  I  should  bring  them  to  light 
now,  that  hereafter  it  should  not  be  in  the  power  of  any  enemy 
to  unearth  them,  and  say  to  her,  "See,  he  would  have  con- 
cealed these  from  you." 

Yes,  thank  Heaven  !  I  told  her  all,  —  all  my  escapades,  all  my 
sorrows  and  disgraces  and  dissipations.     I  kept  back  nothing. 


498      "JUST  THE   VERY  LEAST  BIT  JEALOUS." 

And  here,  let  me  say,  I  would  recommend  all  men  in  love 
to  follow  my  example  in  this  respect.  Be  frank  ■with  the 
woman  you  love.  This  frankness  is  in  itself  a  compliment 
to  the  woman ;  and,  if  she  is  a  true  woman,  she  will  appre- 
ciate it. 

True,  it  is  unpleasant,  most  decidedly  unpleasant,  to  make 
yourself  out  a  fool,  if  not  worse,  in  the  eyes  of  her  to  whom 
you  would  be  a  hero.  But  be  of  good  heart.  She  will  not 
love  you  the  less  for  proving  to  be  human.  And  she  will  find 
more  excuses  for  you,  if  she  loves  you,  than  you  will  be  able  to 
find  for  yourself. 

At  any  rate,  I  have  never  for  one  moment  regretted  my 
frankness  to  my  love  —  my  wife.  She  has  loved  me  better 
since  she  has  been  called  upon  to  forgive  me. 

We  were  betrothed,  and  I  was  blessed.  I  went  to  bed  that 
night  the  happiest  man  in  Burlington,  Vt.,  or  anywhere  else. 
And,  ere  I  went  to  bed,  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  and  thanked  the 
Giver  of  all  good  for  his  unspeakable  gift,  —  the  true  love  of  a 
true  woman. 

Our  engagement  waa  for  a  while  kept  secret,  but  only  for  a 
little  while.  Both  my  wife  and  myself  were  too  sensible  to 
make  a  secret  of  what  won  really,  at  least  on  my  part,  a  matter 
of  pride,  prudence,  and  congratulation.  Besides,  like  every 
other  lovely  woman,  my  betrothed  had  attracted  the  admira- 
tion of  other  men  besides  myself,  —  some  of  them  better  men 
perhaps  ;  and  as  long  as  they  were  kept  in  ignorance  of  our 
engagement,  so  long  as  they  thought  there  might  be  hope, 
they  would  press  their  suit.  In  fact,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  began 
to  feel  just  the  least  bit  in  the  woi'ld  (of  course,  only  just  the 
very  least  bit)  jealous  of  another  nian,  who  was  corresponding 
with  my  darling. 

And  so  to  ease  myself,  and  put  all  parties  out  of  their  pain, 
I  one  day  told  my  love  to  the  parents  of  the  girl  I  loved,  — 


MARRIED  AND  SETTLED.  499 

told  it  like  a  man,  and  was  received,  as  I  had  hoped  to  be,  as 
the  accepted  suitor  and  future  husband  of  their  daughter. 

My  betrothed's  parents  were  people  of  influence  and  posi- 
tion in  the  community.  Her  father,  Charles  C.  Post,  is  a 
manufacturer,  and  patentee  of  several  valuable  improvements ; 
while  her  mother,  n^e  Sylvia  C.  Partch.  was  a  descendant  of 
one  cf  the  oldest  and  best  families  in  New  England.  Her 
grandfather,  Alson  H.  Post,  had  erected  a  church  at  Hines- 
burg,  Vt.,  the  birthplace  of  Chester  A.  Arthur,  President  of 
the  United  States ;  and  along  her  family  line  were  to  be  found 
some  of  the  most  thrifty,  intelligent,  and  prosperous  of  New- 
England  farmers. 

As  for  my  betrothed  herself,  Helen  L.  Post,  now  for  several 
happy  years  Mrs.  Helen  L.  Doutney,  her  personal  appearance, 
and  varied  accomplishments,  are  already  familiar  to  the  public ; 
as  she  has  constantly  been  a  prominent  attraction  at  my  tem- 
perance meetings  and  entertainments,  and  a  public  favorite. 
But  her  domestic  virtues,  —  as  a  wife,  and  the  mother  of  a  fine 
boy.  Master  Charles  Post  Doutney,  now  in  his  sixth  j^ear,  — 
these  are  beyond  all  praise,  and  are  known  fully  only  to  her 
husband,  child,  und  God. 

I  did  not  remain  "an  engaged  man"  long.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  approve  of  lengthened  engagements.  Let  the  court- 
ship be  long,  if  you  will  (though  mine  Avas  short  as  it  was 
sweet),  but  let  your  betrothal  season  be  brief,  and  your  mar- 
riage be  as  speedy  as  possible. 

I  was  married  on  the  twenty-ninth  day  of  June,  1876,  at  the 
Baptist  Church  in  Burlington,  Vt.,  in  the  presence  of  a  large 
assemblage,  by  the  Rev.  INIunson  A.  Wilcox  of  Burlington,  Vt. 

And,  from  the  day  of  my  marriage,  I  have  been  a  good  man, 
or  at  least  a  much  better  man  than  I  was  before  I  married. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

MT  PROFESSIONAL  TEMPEKANCB.  WOUK. — ITS  GENERAL  ASPECTS.  —  ITS  DE- 
TAILS AND  NARRATIVE.  —MY  SUCCESS  AT  WATERTOWN,  N.Y.  — MY  STRUG- 
GLES AND  TRIUMPHS  AT  ST.  PAUL,  MINN. —MY  CAMl'AIGN  ALONG  TUB 
HUDSON,  NEWBURG,  YONKER8,  NYACK,  ETC. —  "  THE  TEMPERANCE-TENT  " 
AT  ROCHESTER. — THE  GOOD  CAUSE  IN  NEW  JERSEY. — TEMPERANCE 
MATINEES  AT  ALBANY.  —  BLUE  RIBBONS  AND  PRACTICAL  PHILANTHROPY. 
—  ENTHUSIASM  AT  BABATOaA.  — SOUTH  AND  WEST.  — RICHMOND,  VA.,  AND 
RICHMOND,   IND. 

I  HAVE  now  completed  the  story  of  what  may  be  called  my 
personal  life,  as  distinct  from  my  strictly  professional  career.  I 
have  shown  fully,  and  in  detail,  how  I  have  sinned  and  suffered 
and  struggled,  and  finally  succeeded  in  conquering  my  own  bad 
habits,  and  winning  a  good  woman. 

But,  thus  far,  I  regard  my  life-narrative  (at  least,  from  a  prac- 
tical and  temperance  point  of  view)  as  being  but  the  history 
of  a  course  of  preparation  for  a  good  work,  —  not  as  the  history  of 
a  good  work  itself ;  for  with  me  my  good  work  was  but  in  its 
infancy.  I  was  a  temperance  lecturer,  it  is  true,  acknowledged 
and  established.  But  most  of  my  achievements  in  this  line  had 
yet  to  he  achieved :  most  of  my  victories  had  yet  to  he  won.  But 
fortified  by  experience,  strengthened  by  the  grace  of  God,  and 
sustained  by  the  loving  sympathy  of  a  devoted  wife,  I  was  now 
ready  for  action.  I  was  a  temperance  worker  indeed.  And  the 
remainder  of  this  volume  must  be  devoted  to  a  brief  rSsumS 
of  my  career  as  a  professional  temperance  advocate. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  give  every  detail  of  my  public  life 
or  professional  movements.  It  will  suffice  to  describe  my  expe- 
600  -     ^..^ 


SOME  MATTERS   OF  FACT.  601 

riences  in  the  prominent  places  I  have  professionally  visited, 
and  to  narrate  those  phases  of  my  public  career  which  are 
either  the  most  interesting  in  themselves,  or  are  the  best  illus- 
trations of  my  own  peculiar  methods  and  successes. 

I  may  state,  that,  as  a  temperance  lecturer  and  advocate,  I 
I  ive  generally  exceeded  my  own  or  my  friends'  anticipations. 
I  may  also  state  truthfully,  that,  while  not  offending  any  special 
class,  I  have  always  been  most  successful  with  what  we  call 
"  the  masses."  I  am  one  of  "  the  people  "  myself;  and,  as  such, 
my  heart  goes  out  to  them,  and  for  them  :  and  so,  while,  I  trust, 
the  rich,  aristocratic,  and  cultured  have  not  turned  from  me,  the 
working-classes  and  the  masses  —  i.e.,  nine-tenths  of  the  popu- 
lation—  have  ever  been  specially  attracted  to  me,  and  actuated 
by  my  influence. 

I  may  also  state,  as  a  matter  of  fact,'  that  I  have  generally 
succeeded  in  drawing  to  myself  a  good  deal  of  public  and  news- 
paper notice,  and  have  made  more  or  less  of  a  stir  wherever  I 
went.  I  have  been  the  cause  of  discussion,  and  have  been  cen- 
sured for  my  methods  by  some,  as  well  as  enthusiastically 
indorsed  by  more.  But,  in  the  long-run,  I  have  been  vindicated 
by  results ;  and,  the  longer  I  have  remained  and  worked  in  any 
one  place,  the  more  thoroughly  have  I  succeeded,  and  the  more 
warmly  have  I  been  liked.  I  have  gained  in  popularity  and 
influence  as  I  progressed.  The  last  impression  of  me  or  my 
work  has  been  better  than  the  first.  This  1  have  always  justly 
regarded  as  a  healthy  sign. 

One  of  the  first  places  in  which  I,  as  a  temperance  lecturer 
and  advocate,  made  my  mark,  was  at  the  thriving  town  or  city 
of  Watertown,  one  of  the  most  enterprising  places  in  Jefferson 
County,  and  all  that  section  of  the  great  State  of  New  York. 

Prior  to  my  visit  to  Watertown,  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  only  one  night  in  each  town ;  and  I  went  to  Water- 
town  itself  for  only  one  night.     But  my  enthusiastic  reception, 


602  WORE  AT   WATERTOWN. 

and  the  good  work  I  saw  being  done,  led  me  to  remain  and 
lecture  and  work  four  nights ;  and  then,  returning  to  the  place 
rather  reluctantly,  —  feaiing  I  had  rather  overdone  tiio  matter 
here  before,  —  I  found  the  tide  of  enthusiasm,  practical  enthu- 
siasm, for  the  temperance  cause,  swelling  so  rapidly,  that  I 
remained  seven  weeks. 

At  one  period,  during  ray  visit  to  Watertown,  I  conducted 
two  meetings  at  different  parts  of  the  borough  simultaneously, 
crossing  over  from  one  to  the  other  by  team,  and  personally 
conducting  them  both  at  once. 

All  classes  of  people  joined  in  the  temperance  revival  I  here 
inaugurated,  and  the  town  was  taken  bj^  .storm  for  the  good 
cause.  As  "  The  Lockport  Times  "  remarked,  "  The  people  of 
Watertown  have  had  an  inuuense  temperance  jubilee  and  pro- 
cession ;  the  moyor  and  aldermen  leading  the  procession  through 
the  streets  amid  cheers  from  the  multitude,  music  from  the 
bands,  and  the  waving  of  flags.  The  revival  is  in  charge  of 
Doutney,  the  celebrated  temperance  worker." 

This  temperance  jubilee,  in  addition  to  the  grand  procession 
just  referred  to,  embraced  a  temperance  "  supper  "  at  Washing- 
ton Hall,  which  was  an  immense  success.  During  my  work  at 
Watertown  I  headed  a.  party  of  over  two  hundred  ladies  and 
gen.lemen  interested  in  the  cause  of  temperance,  and  with 
them  paid  a  visit  to  the  Watertown  jail,  where  I  held  a  temper- 
ance meeting  among  the  prisoners,  several  of  whom  were 
affected  to  tears,  and  many  of  whom  signed  the  pledge. 

A  "  temperance  reform  club  "  had  been  started  previous  to 
my  arrival  at  Watertown ;  but,  before  my  departure  from  the 
place,  the  membership  to  this  club  had  been  increased  to  over 
thirti/  times  its  original  proportions.  This  was  practical  work ; 
these  were  tangible  results ;  and  as  such  I  would  gratefully 
record  them.  - 
,  "  The  Watertown  Daily  Times "  of  Jan.  22,  1877,  treating 


DEGiyyiNG   THE  GOOD    WORK.  608 

editorially  of  the  temperance  reform  movement  in  the  place, 
remarked,  — 

There  is  something  fearfully  suggestive  in  figures  when  properly 
grouped.  They  carry  force  in  their  array  beyond  what  any  verbal 
statement  can  do.  Their  power  is  beyond  tliat  of  eloquence,  and  tlicir 
pathos  is  deeper  than  the  saddest  trutli.  Wherever  we  look,  in  every 
State  of  our  Union,  and  in  every  city  and  village  of  the  State,  the 
financial  untl  social  devastation  which  the  rum-tradlc  works  is  seen. 
Jails  are  filled  by  it ;  the  poorhouses  are  crowded  by  wretched  in- 
mates ;  wives  are  separated  from  tlieir  husbands ;  children  are  made 
vagrants  ;  homes  are  devastated  by  the  operation  of  a  trallic  against 
which  hunuuie  and  economic  considerations  unite  in  earnest  and  solemn 
protest.  It  is  owing  in  part  to  the  vastness  of  the  curse,  that  peo- 
ple do  not  grasp  its  enormity,  which  threatens  every  sacred  and  salu- 
tary interest  of  society.  In  view  of  these  solemn  facts,  about  four 
weeks  ago  a  handful  of  people  of  this  city  began  to  feel  an  interest 
in  the  welfare  and  well-being  of  their  fellow-brothers,  who  had  been, 
some  for  years  and  some  for  a  lifetime,  daily  addicted  to  the  use  of  a 
poisoning  beverage  which  filled  homes  with  want  and  wretchedness, 
and  which  has  scattered  the  seeds  of  sin  and  degradation  in  every 
little  neighborhood  in  Wptertown  as  well  as  elsewhere.  Being  men 
of  much  experience  in  the  many  dififerent  ways  in  which  the  impor- 
tant questions  of  temperance,  intemperance,  and  strong  drink  liad 
been  treated  in  the  past,  they  resolved  upon  a  new  plan ;  namely, 
that  of  forming  what  is  known  as  a  temperance  reform  club,  and 
work,  only  to  get  fallen  men,  and  others  who  take  now  and  then  a 
drink,  to  join  ;  leaving  the  questions  of  who  shall  sell,  and  what  we 
shall  do  with  the  whiskey-venders,  to  be  dealt  with  by  others  ;  think- 
ing perhaps  in  so  doing,  if  successful  in  saving  a  large  number  of 
men,  the  liquor-dealers  would  in  time  quit  the  business.  Knowing 
these  things,  and  desiring  to  accomplish  a  great  good,  they  secured  the 
services  of  a  leformed  drunkard  who  had  been  speaking  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. He  came,  and  held  several  meetings  in  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  Rooms,  which  were  well  attended.     The  Tem- 


604  TUE  GOOD   WORK  I'liOOItESSES. 

perance  Reform  Club  of  Wiitertown  oinjuiatotl  from  tlioRo  moctings. 
This  man  did  good  work  wliilu  he  ivimiined  ;  but  it  wiiu  uppureiit 
that  hti  waa  uot  the  mau  to  mterejt  iirmi,  and  to  turn  th(Mn  to  the 
paths  of  right  aud  righteousness.  It  was  phiin  to  all,  thut  the  great 
work  to  be  performed  must  be  done  by  some  individual  in  whom  all 
classes  would  have  confidence.  The  name  of  Thomas  N.  Doutney 
was  suggested.  His  fame  as  a  temperance  lecturer  was  known  ;  and 
ho  was  invited,  and  lie  came.  At  the  time  of  Mr.  Doulncy's  arrival, 
there  were  lK>tween  thirty  and  forty  members  of  the  Temperanco 
Reform  Club ;  yet  the  members  of  the  little  band  earnestly  h(jped  to 
be  made  stronger  through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Doutney,  and  their 
hopes  have  been  fully  realized.  The  first  meetings  were  held  in 
Mechanics'  Hall,  Factory  Street,  —  a  small  room  with  limited  accom- 
modations. The  attendance  soon  became  so  large,  that  more  room 
was  a  necessity.  The  pastors  of  the  various  clutches  offered  to  Mr. 
Doutney  and  the  club  the  free  use  of  their  edifices,  and  all  were 
anxious  to  assist  in  the  good  work.  The  court-house  was  placed  at 
their  disposal ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  John  A.  Sherman,  proprietor 
of  Washington  Hall,  offered  the  hall  free  to  the  club  on  any  and  all 
occasions  that  they  might  desire  it.  On  one  occasion  two  meetings 
were  held  at  the  same  hour, — one  in  the  Arsenal-street  Methodist 
Church,  and  the  other  in  Scripture  &  Clark's  Hall,  which  was  also  given 
without  charge.  The  meetings  have  been  crowded  without  exception. 
Mr.  Doutn^^"  has  been  present  at  every  meeting,  and  in  his  own 
peculiar  styie  has  shown  men  the  true  way.  Mr.  Doutney  is  a 
man  perhaps  of  twenty-eight  to  thirty- two  years :  is  medium  in 
size,  and  quick  in  thought  and  action.  He  is  always  ready  when 
called  upon  to  do  any  thing  to  save  a  fallen  brother.  He  is  not  a 
p^'Mshed  orator,  but  a  very  earnest  speaker.  Ho  is  an  excellent 
delineator.  He  can  imitate  the  French,  German,  Irish,  Scotch,  and 
the  negro  to  perfection.  He  has  all  the  requisites  of  a  temperance 
reformer.  He  has  been  a  liquor-seller  and  a  drunkard  ;  has  had  the 
delirum  tremens,  and  all  else  that  follows  the  use  of  strong  drink. 
The  smab  number  of  thirty  or  forty  has,  through  Mr.  Doutney's 
exertions,  been  increased  to  an  organization  of  nearly  one  thousand 


FAREWELL  TO   WATERTOIVN.  605 

persons.  The  vastncss  of  the  work  can  hard  y  be  rcalizeil,  and  its 
importance  can  never  be  forgotten.  The  object  of  tlie  club  ih,  not  to 
lueddlo  witli  politics,  or  the  private  affairs  of  any  one,  but  simply 
to  preach  temperance.  Mrs.  Doutncy  has  been  present  at  most  of  the 
meetings,  and  has  favored  the  audience  with  her  singing,  which  is 
very  fine,  to  say  the  least.  Watert'jwn  has  never  experienced  such  a 
temperance  revival  as  that  of  the  past  three  weeks.  The  kind  of 
men  who  have  signed  the  pledge  and  joined  the  club  are  just  the 
men  that  no  community  can  do  without.  Many  of  them  are  fathers. 
Many  are  sous,  —  the  pride  of  some  poor  motiier  or  father.  Many 
of  them  are  friends  who  are  tlear  to  uU  of  us.  Many  of  them  are 
brothers,  loved  of  dear  sisters,  who  rejoice  to-day  tliut  their  brothers 
oi'e  sober  men. 

Ere  I  left  Watertown  I  was  made  agreeably  cognizant  of  the 
esteem  in  which  I  was  held  in  the  place,  by  the  presentation 
of  a  superb  gold  watch,  the  gift  of  a  number  of  influential 
citizens  deeply  interested  in  the  temperance  movement.  My 
farewell  to  Watertown  was  marked  by  a  display  of  public  sym- 
pathy and  personal  feeling  which  was  as  encouraging  as  it  was 
unusual. 

It  took  place  at  the  First  Presbyterian  Church,  which  was 
crowded  with  over  fifteen  hundred  people.  Rev.  Dr.  Porter, 
presiding  elder,  M.  D.  Kinney,  President  Ingles,  Rev.  Mr.  Bul- 
lock, Rev.  Mr.  Putnam,  and  other  prominent  citizens,  took  part 
in  the  exercises,  which  were,  towards  the  end,  positively  affect- 
ing in  the  display  of  good  feeling,  which  was  also  manifested 
practically  in  liberal  contributions  to  defray  my  necessary  living 
expenses.  God  bless  Wate:  town  I  I  feel  I  was  enabled  to  do 
it  some  lasting  good ;  and  I  know  that  the  memory  of  the  kind- 
ness of  its  citizens  will  ever  do  me  good  till  I  die,  and  perhaps 
—  who  shall  say  not  —  after  death. 

Another  town  of  importance  in  which  my  work  proved  a 
success,  after  a  somewhat  protracted  struggle,  was  St.  Paul, 


606  AT  ST.  PAUL. 

Minn.,  ono  of  tho  most  flourishing  centres  of  tlio  great  WeHt. 
The  liulioH  of  St.  I'liul  had  been  specially  exercised  concerning 
tho  nun-dcnion,  and  had  resolved  to  exorcise  it.  They  deter- 
mined to  attack  it  root  and  branch,  and  by  every  known  agency. 
Among  otiier  steps,  they  appointed  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer, 
and  also  nuido  arrangements  for  mo  to  Hpeuk  on  Sunday  night. 
May  13, 1877,  at  tho  opera-house,  under  their  auspices.  In  all 
my  life  I  never  addressed  a  more  intelligent  audience  than  were 
gathered  together  at  the  opera-house  that  Sunday  evening. 
Every  seat  in  tho  building  was  occupied,  Including  chairs  on 
the  stage;  while  large  numbers  stood  up  in  the  aisles.  And 
hundreds  of  persons  reluctantly  went  to  their  homes,  not  being 
able  to  enter  tho  building  at  all. 

Upon  the  platform  wore  Rev.  Dr.  Breed,  Rev.  Messrs.  Cross, 
McKebben,  Edwards,  Williams,  and  other  pastors  of  tho 
evangelical  churches  of  tho  city,  and  a  trained  choir  of  fifteen 
voices,  who  discoursed  most  excellent  music. 

I  felt  perfectly  at  homo  amid  such  a  crowd  as  this,  and  soon 
put  my  audience,  as  the  French  say,  en  rapport  with  me.  I 
never  felt  alike  more  cool  and  more  enthusiastic  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  existence,  and  I  could  see  that  ray  words  struck 
home.  I  carried  my  audience  with  me.  Tho  next  night  the 
meeting,  the  crowd,  and  the  enthusiasm  were  repeated.  I  was 
a  success,  or  at  least  the  good  cause  I  represented  had  tri- 
umphed in  my  person. 

Here  in  St.  Paul  I  adopted  the  plan  of  a  riboon  to  designate 
those  who  had  signed  the  pledge,  and  I  found  the  plan  worked 
admirably.  I  substituted  a  blue  for  a  red  ribbon:  and  soon 
the  streets  of  St.  Paul  began  to  be  remarkably  well  supplied 
with  perambulating  blue  ribbons,  or  honest,  happy  men,  pledged 
to  total  abstinence  from  intoxicating  drinks,  with  blue  ribbons 
attached ;  and  I  had  thus  tangible  evidence  before  me  con- 
stantly that  my  labors  were  blessed. 


"AN  OUTSIDE  UEATIIEN."  607 

But  I  did  not  by  any  meana  ive  entire  satisfaction  at  first 
in  St.  Paul.  "  The  Dispatch "  remarked,  that  "  sonio  of  his 
[my]  illustrations  and  sayings  are  not  in  accord  with  niinis- 
toriul  views."  In  short,  I  was  not  theological  enough  or  dig- 
nified enough.  lUit  then,  I  had  not  eouio  to  St.  Taul  to  preach 
theology  or  to  illustrate  dignity,  but  to  advocate  temperance ; 
and  I  certainly  did  that,  and  did  it  successfully. 

I,  or  my  methods  ot  temperance  work,  soon  became  the 
subject  of  newspaper  controversy.  An  unknown  correspond- 
ent, who  signed  himself  "An  Outside  Ileatlien,"  wrote  to 
"The  St.  Paul  Dispatch,"  indcrsing  my  work,  but  blaming  the 
churches  and  the  ministers  for  not  sustaining  me  more  pub- 
licly and  steadily.  To  this  communication  a  certain  "J.  McK" 
replied  in  behalf  of  the  churches  and  ministers,  claiming  that 
they  (lid  support  me  in  my  temperance  work,  but  found  fault 
with  my  depending  too  much  upon  mere  material  or  moral 
means,  —  i)lcdgc3,  blue  ribbons,  arguments,  and  the  like,  —  but 
not  attaching  sufficient  importance  to  the  one  only  element  that 
could  ever  make  and  keep  men  truly  temperate ;  i.e.,  the  grace 
of  God.  N.  w,  in  this,  "  J.  McK  "  made  a  great  mistake ;  for 
it  was  just  oecause  I  did  believe  in  the  grace  of  Qod  that  I  v/as 
so  particular  in  insisting  upon  using  all  ihe  means  of  grace,  such 
as  lectures,  arguments,  pledges,  blue  ribbons,  etc.  I  have 
always  felt  that  it  was  the  height  of  folly  and  impertinence 
to  call  upon  God  to  do  that  for  us  which  we  will  not  try  with 
all  our  might  to  do  for  ourselves.  Unto  him  that  hath  shall 
be  given.  And  I  hold  that  no  man  can  be  honestly,  prayer- 
fully desirous  of  conquering  intemperance,  or  any  other  bad 
habit,  who  will  not  thoroughly  use  every  physical  and  intel- 
lectual means  to  accomplish  this  end. 

The  newspaper  controversy  over  my  methods  of  temperance 
work  was  carried  on  with  considerable  asperity  for  some  time  : 
but  at  last  Christian  people  began  to  understand  me  better; 


608  8T.  PAUL'S  PARADE. 

and,  ere  I  left  St.  Paul,  I  was  publicly  and  heartily  indorsed 
alike  by  laity  and  clergy. 

The  subjoined  extract  from  "  The  St.  Paul  Dispatch "  will 
serve  to  show  how  triumphantly  I  terminated  my  campaign  at 
St.  Paul. 

GRAND  PARADE  AND  MEETING  LAST  EVENING. 

The  crowning  event  of  the  Temperance  Reform  took  place  last 
evening  in  tlie  form  of  a  grand  temperance  parade,  under  the  super- 
vision of  ]Mr.  Doutncy.  Tlie  assembly  was  called  at  seven  o'clock  ; 
and  the  parade  formed  in  two  ranks  to  the  number  of  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  men,  headed  by  a  baud,  and  nearly  all  the  clergy.  The  pro- 
cession moved  from  the  City  Hall,  and  marched  up  to  the  Seven  Cor- 
ners, down  Third  to  Jackson,  from  Jackson  up  Seventh  to  Wabasha 
to  Third.  The  column  was  here  countermarched,  and  filed  two  and 
two  into  the  opera-house,  filling  the  lower  part  of  the  house  and 
stage  fuU.  The  gallery,  dress-circle,  and  boxes  were  filled  exclusively 
with  ladies.  All  along  the  line  of  march,  the  sidewalks  were  filled 
with  citizens  who  waved  on  the  procession  as  it  moved  along:  at 
least  eight  hundred  men  were  in  line. 

The  meeting  at  the  opera-house  was  very  interesting,  and  at 
eleven  o'clock  the  vast  audience  yet  seemed  willing  to  remaiu.  A 
large  number  signed  the  pledge ;  and,  if  Mr.  Doutney  could  remain 
another  week,  the  interest  would  not  abate  one  whit. 

The  following  resolutions  and  preamble  were  offered  by  Col.  J. 
Ham  Davidson,  and  adopted  without  one  dissenting  voice.  "After 
more  than  three  weeks  of  earnest  labor  in  the  grand  temperance 
reform  in  St.  Paul,  under  the  direction  of  Thomas  N.  Doutney, 
and  after  witnessing  the  glorious  results  that  have  been  achieved, 
we  deem  it  expedient  and  just  to  give  some  expression  to  our  appre- 
ciation of  Mr.  Doutney's  labors,  as  we  are  about  to  separate  with 
him,  in  order  to  aid  the  good  work  wherever  he  may  go  hereafter." 
Therefore, 

Resolved,  That  we  recognize  in  Thomas  N.  Doutney  the  most 
active  temperance  worker  that  has  ever  been  with  us ;   and,  after 


"OLD"  NEM'BURO.  609 

carefully  observing  the  results  of  the  series  of  meetings  conducted 
by  him  under  the  auspices  of  the  AVomen's  Christiun  Temperance 
Union  of  St.  Paul,  we  heartily  and  earnestly  commend  him  to  the 
sympathy  and  co-operation  of  all  temperance  men  and  women, 
wherever  he  may  go  to  labor  in  the  future. 

Resolved,  That  we  return  thanks  to  the  ladies  for  the  series  of 
meetings  they  have  inaugurated,  iiud  which  was  rendered  so  entirely 
successful  by  their  efforts  to  do  so. 

A  third  town  in  which  my  temperance  work  was  crowned 
with  success  was  Newburg,  N.Y.,  one  of  the  old  historical 
towns  of  the  Empire  State.  My  advent  in  this  old  borough 
created  an  excitement  which  gradually  increased  till  it  became 
the  sensation  and  the  one  great  topic  of  the  place.  I  intro- 
duced "the  blue-ribbon"  plan  here  also,  and  found  it  acted 
like  a  charm. 

Some  of  the  temperance  meetings  held  under  my  direction 
at  the  opera-house  here  were,  as  "The  Newburg  Daily 
Journal "  phrased  it,  "  sights  to  behold."  Large  numbers  went 
away  from  the  place,  unable  to  get  inside  its  portals.  And  the 
large  audience  was  swayed  by  an  enthusiasm  rarely  witnessed 
outside  a  political  meeting. 

I  was  specially  blessed  in  being  enabled  to  make  an  impres- 
sion upon  the  firemen  of  Newburg,  many  of  whom  were  of 
the  class  denominated  as  "hard  drinkers."  Altogether,  I 
did  a  great  work,  sustained  by  the  active  sympathy  of  the 
press  and  the  clergy  (Rev.  Dr.  Carrol,  Rev.  J.  R.  Thompson, 
Rev.  Dr.  King,  and  others),  and,  ere  I  left  the  town,  had  gained 
nearly  fifteen  hundred  converts  to  the  temperance  cause. 

One  of  my  favorite  maxims  met  with  hearty  indorsement 
here, — i.e.,  that  the  very  best  way  to  reform  men  is,  to  give 
them  a  chance  to  reform  themselves;  and  that  the  very  best 
way  to  keep  a  man  honest,  industrious,  and  temperate,  is,  to 
give    him    work.      This    sentiment  was    enthusiastically  ap- 


610  THE  HUDSON-RIVER   TOWNS. 

plauded,  and  was,  I  am  glad  to  say,  acted  upon  practically  in 
a  number  of  instances  which  came  to  my  knowledge. 

Just  as  in  many  other  places,  so  in  Newburg,  my  methods 
were  appreciated  more  and  more  as  I  remained  longer  and 
longer.  My  personal  and  professional  popularity  increased 
with  time.  And,  when  I  bade  farewell  to  the  good  old  town, 
I  found  that  I  was  parting  with  friends,  not  strangers.  The 
firemen  of  the  town  turned  out  en  masse  to  see  me  off.  And 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  population  of  the  borough  had  coine 
down  to  the  river-side  to  bid  me  good-by.  The  steamboats 
blew  their  whistles,  the  town-bells  rung.  I  received  an  almost 
national  salute,  which  I  received  gratefully,  and  viewed  in  its 
true  light,  as  a  deserved  compliment,  not  to  my  humble  self, 
but  to  my  great  and  noble  cause. 

At  this  period  I  also  visited  the  beautiful  little  Nyack  and 
the  active,  flourishing  Yonkers,  two  of  the  best  known  of 
the  Hudson-river  towns.  In  both  of  these  places  my  work 
achieved  a  gratifying  success.  As  "The  Yonkers  Gazette" 
stated,  "  upwards  of  seventeen  hundred  persons  have  signed 
the  pledge,  and  put  on  the  blue  ribbon,  during  the  lecturer's 
stay  in  Yonkers."  During  my  work  at  Nyack  an  excursion 
steamer  was  chartered  to  convey  parties  of  friends,  and  others 
desirous  of  attending  my  meetings,  from  Yonkers  to  Nyack  and 
return.  In  Yonkers  I  caused  to  be  organized  a  branch  of  the 
Woman's  Temperance  Union. 

The  next  place  of  prominence  at  which  I  labored  was  Roch- 
ester, one  of  the  great  cities  of  the  Empire  State,  —a  city  full 
of  wealth  and  energy  and  enterprise.  In  this  city  I  first  intro- 
duced and  practically  carried  out  an  idea  which  had  for  some 
time  been  forming  in  my  mind,  —  the  idea  of  a  "  Temperance- 
Tent,'^  —  of  temperance  meetings  conducted  under  canvas.  I 
could  see  no  good  reason  why  the  circus  should  monopolize 
this  good  idea.     There  is  something  about  "  tent-life  "  which 


"A   TEMPERANCE-TENT."  611 

pleases  the  popular  fancy.  It  is  in  itseli  a  very  corvenient 
kind  of  life  during  the  season,  far  preferable  +')  the  hii'ing 
cf  halls  in  warm  weather,  combining,  as  it  does,  the  advan- 
tages of  an  open-air  existence  with  all  the  essentials,  of  itu 
indoor  life.  For  the  life  of  me,  I  could  see  no  unpropriety 
about  it,  no  valid  objection ;  while  I  at  once  realized  its  bene- 
fits. So,  determined  to  do  for  temperance  what  Barnum  and 
others  have  done  for  amusement,  I  erected  a  monster  tent,  and 
conducted  my  services  a  id  public  exercises  under  canvas. 

This  was  the  first  application  of  the  Tent  to  Temperance  in 
this  country,  and  has  proved  a  success. 

I  may  here  remark,  that  in  this  tent-idea,  as  in  every  other 
idea  which  I  liave  carried  out  or  acted  upon,  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  apply  the  principles  of  common  sense  and  business  to 
morality,  religion,  and  temperance,  and  have,  as  it  were,  gone 
up  to  God  in  a  business  way,  and  endeavored  to  practically  real- 
ize, in  dollars  and  cents,  in  clothes  or  food,  or  work  or  canvas, 
or  whatever  it  might  be,  the  good  that  I  wanted  to  carry  out. 

I  am  a  great  believer,  pot  only  in  grace,  but  in  the  means  of 
grace.  In  fact,  I  feel  sure  you  can't  have  the  one  —  and  have 
no  right  to  expect  it  —  without  the  agency  of  the  other.  As 
the  circus-folk  found  tent-life  available  for  mere  amusement, 
so  I  have  found  it  available  for  moral  and  philanthropic  instruc- 
tion. And  just  as  show-people  generally  try  to  make  shows 
agreeable  and  enticing  with  song  and  music  and  mirth  and 
recreation,  so  I  have  striven  to  render  temperance  attractive 
by  presenting  it  with  attractive  surroundings. 

As  I  remarked  one  day  in  an  address,  "  Let  the  temperance 
people  but  take  one-half  as  much  trouble  to  empty  the  bar- 
rooms and  drinking-saloons  as  the  proprietors  of  these  places 
take  to  fill  them  ;  let  the  cold-water  advocates  surround  tem- 
perance with  as  much  attraction  as  the  liquor-dealers  surround 
rum,  —  and  the  good  work  is  accomplished." 


512  MT  "  NEW  IDEA  "   IN  ItOCnESTER. 

On  these  sentiments  I  have  based  my  course  ;  and  I  found, 
that  as  elsewhere,  so  in  liochester,  I  met  with  thorough 
indorsement  and  success. 

My  "  gospel  teraperance-tent,"  as  T  termed  it,  was  erected  in 
Rochester,  near  tlie  corner  of  Caledonia  and  West  Avenues, 
and  had  seating  accommodation  for  nearly  a  thousand  people. 
Rev.  Dr.  Riggs,  Rev.  J.  T.  Bissel,  Rev.  M.  Fisher,  and  other 
clergymen,  took  part  ir  the  dedicatory  exercises ,  and  it  was  a 
popular  "hit"  from  the  start.  It  was  just  wliat  the  people 
needed.  The  Rochester  *'  Democrat  &  Chronicle,"  in  its 
elaborate  description  of  this  temperance-tent,  remarks  as 
follows;  — 

The  pavilion  is  a  large,  two-mast  concern,  and  appears  very 
much  like  the  ordinary  sliow-tent,  which  covers  the  mysteries  of  the 
lesser  light  show.s  upon  the  road.  The  seats,  or  benclips,  are  arranged 
in  semicircular  form,  facing  toward  the  platform  at  the  west  side. 
There  is  an  abundance  of  sawdust  spread  around  under  foot ;  and  the 
square,  eaves-trough  "  illuminators,"  which  hang  around  the  two  cen- 
tre poles,  give  to  the  place  that  air  which  so  largely  tends  to  attract 
hundreds  to  the  circus-tent.  .  .  .  But  there  are  no  small  boys  trying  to 
crawl  in  under  the  tent,  and  no  young  men,  with  their  shirt-sleeves 
caught  up  by  elastic  bands,  who  go  about  plaintively  calling  "  pea- 
nuts." As  the  expansive  spread  of  canvas  overhead  flaps  and  swaj's 
in  the  wind,  there  is  something  about  the  homogeneous  throng,  and 
their  unconventional  surroundings,  which  strongly  tends  to  remind 
one  of  a  good  old-fashioned  camp-meeting,  where  the  only  canopy 
over  the  congregation  is  the  rustling  leaves  and  !eafy  branches,  pnd 
the  starry  skies  above.  This  last  sentence  gives  the  whole  force  of 
the  tent-idea.  It  is  to  convey  the  suggestions  of  a  free  outdoor  life, 
as  contrasted  with  indoor  style  and  restraint.     _.  ,. 

I  may  here  remark  that  mine  was  not  merely  a  "  fair-weather  " 
tent :  it  was  perfectly  waterproof,  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  an 


"A   REFORMED    WORKER:'  518 

immense  audience  which  attended  one  of  my  temperance  meet- 
ings during  a  tremendous  shower,  and  experienced  no  incon- 
venience. 

During  ray  stay  in  Rochester  I  was  ably  aided  by  the  ener- 
getic and  eloquent  Col.  John  F.  Hoy,  T.  B.  Stillson,  Rev. 
Messrs.  Stacy,  Baker,  Taylor,  Campbell,  Patton,  and  many  others, 
as  well  as  by  my  dear  wife,  whose  sweet  singing  on  the  platform, 
and  sweet  smile  off  the  platform,  did  much  to  advance  our 
mutual  work  and  the  noble  cause.  Miss  Florence  E.  Bacon,  a 
personal  friend  of  my  wife  and  of  myself,  as  well  as  one  of  my 
most  faithful  assistants,  also  contributed  largely  to  our  success 
by  her  popular  recitations.  Miss  Bacon  is  univertMilly  pro- 
nounced by  press  and  public  a  young  lady  of  fine  elocutionary 
ability. 

In  Rochester,  as  elsewhere,  the  good  work  prospered  under 
my  humble  though  honest  exertions :  but,  of  course,  all  was 
not  couleur  de  rose  ;  nothing  is  in  this  world.  Somebody,  who 
signed  himself  "A  Reformed  Worker,"  attacked  myself  and 
wife  as  "  humbiags,"  after  our  departure.  But  his  attack  only 
brought  eloquent  defenders  to  the  front,  and  merely  served  to 
prove  how  many  friends  my  wife  and  myself  had  made  in 
Rochester.  After  all,  the  best  proof  of  the  kind  of  work  we 
did  in  Rochester  was  the  fact,  that  thousands  of  signatures 
were  appended  to  the  temperance  pledge. 

Another  field  of  labor  in  which  success  attended  our  efforts 
was  Jersey  City,  one  of  the  most  bustling  suburbs  of  the  great 
metropolis.  In  Newark,  Paterson,  and  other  New-Jersey  cen- 
tres of  population,  I  also  lectured  with  good  results.  In  New- 
ark I  lectured  under  the  auspices  of  the  Union  Gospel  Temper- 
ance Association.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  my  temperance-tent 
was  a  great  "  hit."  "  The  Newark  Daily  Advertiser "  re- 
marked, that  "the  novelty  of  conducting  meetings  of  this 
kind  under  canvas  draws  to  the  tent  an  element  in  this  com- 


514  THE  "PLEDGE"  IN  ALBANY. 

munity  which  could  not  be  otherwise  reached  by  Cliristian  or 
by  temperance  workers."  Thia  sums  up  the  whole  matter,  — 
gives  the  truth  concerning  it  in  a  nut-shell. 

In  Albany  I  made  a  protracted  stay,  whose  general  history 
may  be  summed  up  in  one  sentence.  My  work  began  bravely, 
developed  great  enthusiasm;  also  developed  some  dissatisfac- 
tion, arising  partly  from  the  slanders  of  the  envious,  and  partly 
from  the  misunderstandings  cf  the  well-me..ning;  but  finally 
culminated  in  a  triumph,  and  resulted  in  permanent  good. 
The  details  are  briefly  as  follows :  For  over  five  weeks  I  held 
nightly  meetings,  and  in  some  cases  two  meetings  a-day,  in 
Martin  Hall,  old  Tweedle  Hall,  the  old  Tabernacle  Baptist 
Church,  etc.,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  Union.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Morse  was  the  first  clergy- 
man of  Albany  to  introduce  me  to  the  public,  and  remained 
my  warm  personal  friend  and  professional  associate  throughout. 

As  usual,  I  made  an  all-important  feature  of  the  signing  of 
the  pledge.  It  may  be  well  here  to  give  the  fornx  of  the  pledge 
which  I  offered  for  signature. 

"Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins.  Help  raise  the  fallen. 
With  malice  toward  none,  and  with  charity  for  all,  I,  the  under- 
signed, do  pledge  my  word  and  honor,  God  helping  me,  to  abstain 
from  all  intoxicating  liquors  as  a  beverage,  and  that  I  will,  by  all 
honorable  means,  encourage  others  to  do  the  same." 

I  also  made  a  special  feature  of  the  singing.  The  Moody 
and  Sankey  hymns  were  used,  as  well  as  some  special  temper- 
ance and  religious  hymns  published  in  leaflets,  and  widely 
distributed.  My  dear  wife,  in  this  department,  was  of  the 
utmost  assistance  to  me.  Her  rendering  of  "  The  Ninety  and 
Nine,"  and  other  sacred  songs  of  a  similar  character,  was  spe- 
cially notable. 

I  also  found  that  my  renditions  of  character  and  dialect  parts. 


"THE  BLUE  RinUON."  516 

ill  imitation  of  men  of  various  nationalities  in  various  stages  of 
intovication,  were  very  well  received,  and  highly  commended 
by  the  press,  is  well  ud  by  the  people. 

Among  the  attractions  at  some  of  my  meetings  at  Albany 
were  the  Hutchinson  family  of  singers,  one  of  whom,  Mrs.  Asa 
Hutchinson,  so  kindly  befriended  me  when  Mrs.  Powers  of 
Bangor,  Me.,  and  whose  kindness  I  made  a  point  of  publicly 
acknowledging  at  one  of  my  meetings. 

The  blue  ribbon  was  also  utilized  with  great  success  at 
Albany,  as  one  of  the  "  outward  and  visible  signs  of  an  inward 
and  spiritual  grace."  And  here  let  me  explain  why  I  adopted 
the  blue  ribbon.  I  obtained  the  hint  as  to  the  color  from  the 
fifteenth  chapter  of  the  Book  of  Numbers,  thirty-eighth  and 
thirty-ninth  verses,  in  which  allusion  is  made  to  a  blue  fringe 
on  the  garments  of  the  children  of  Israel,  which  was  to  be  a 
symbol,  "  i^"*-  ye  may  look  upon  it,  and  remember  all  the  com- 
mandments of  the  Lord,  and  do  them." 

One  feature  of  my  Albany  meetings  struck  the  public  as  a 
novelty,  and  met  with  wide  approval.  I  refer  to  what  I  may 
call  my  "temperance  matlnSes"  —  my  meetings  in  the  after- 
noon for  children.  Over  one  thousand  children  assembled  at 
Tweedle  Hall,  Saturday  afternoon,  Dec.  8,  1877,  to  take  <part 
in  the  exercises  of  one  of  my  meetings.  I  offered  prizes  for 
the  best  temperance  recitations,  the  prizes  consisting  of  eigh- 
teen volumes  of  juvenile  stories.  Twenty-six  boys  and  thirty- 
six  girls  competed  for  the  prizes. 

On  another  occasion  I  offered  a  ten-dollar  gold-piece  as  a 
prize  for  the  best  recitation  by  either  girl  or  boy.  The  chil- 
dren, with  their  parents  and  relatives,  were  intensely  interested 
in  this  competition. 

Some,  it  is  true,  found  fault  with  this  connecting  children 

,  with  a  temperance  movement ;  but  I  took  issue  with  those  fjudt- 

finders.    As  I  remarked  at  the  time,  "  I  would  rather  have  chil- 


616  TUE   (JUILDUEN  AND    THE  C  ERQl'. 

dreii  taught  toniperaiico  thun  g'-^wn  people,  for  in  the  children 
lies  the  hojje  of  tlio  imtion.  Besides,  it  is  so  much  easier  to 
prevent  an  evil  in  a  child  than  it  is  to  cure  that  evil  in  a  grown- 
up man  or  woman." 

Exception  was  also  taken  in  certain  quarters  in  Albany,  that 
I  had  not  been  indorsed  by  the  clergy,  —  that,  as  a  body,  they 
stood  aloof  from  my  work.  Jiut  this  was  contrary  to  the  facts 
in  the  first  place,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  temperance 
work.  I  came  to  call,  like  my  Divine  Master,  not  the  right- 
eous, but  the  siiiner,  to  repentance.  I  did  not  visit  Albany, 
or  any  other  place,  to  produce  a  revival  among  the  clergy 
(though  not  a  few  clergymen  really  need  a  "revival"  of  old- 
fashioned,  true  religion),  but  to  produce  an  awakening  and  a 
reformation  among  the  lowly  and  the  sinful.  And  in  this  I 
effectually  succeeded. 

How  successful  my  work  in  Albany  really  was,  can  be  seen 
from  a  glance  at  the  following  article,  which  appeared  in  the 
columns  of  "  The  Albany  Evening  Journal :  "  — 

Now  that  the  temperance  revival,  held  in  this  city,  draws  to  a  close, 
it  might  be  interesting  to  look  back  on  the  field,  and  notice  the  results. 
While  the  protracted  meetings  did  not  begin  until  some  six  weeks  ago, 
ye',  the  preparatory  meetings  were  commenced  last  June,  being  hold 
in  the  open  air  at  the  Capitol  Park  every  Sunday  afternoon.  Later, 
when  the  weather  became  too  cool,  "Martin  Hall,"  which  was 
crowded  each  Sunday,  was  secured.  In  this  hall  Mr.  Thomas  N. 
Doutney  commenced  his  series  of  meetings,  which  have  continued 
over  a  period  of  five  weeks.  Mr.  Doutney  came  to  this  city  in  tlie  full 
flush  of  a  wonderful  success  in  the  city  of  Newburg ;  and,  knowing 
that  this  city  was  ripe  for  a  revival,  he  expected  to  have  the  assistance 
and  co-operation  of  all  the  temperance  men  and  women  of  the  city, 
as  he  had  at  Newburg  and  other  cities.  But  one  of  the  results  did 
not  fully  realize  his  anticipations ;  for  while  temperance  workers 
gathered  around  him,  and  rendered  all  the  assistance  which  they  knew 


MY  SUCCESS  AT  ALBAyY.  517 

80  well  how  to  pive,  tlic  other  and  liiglier  ploment  stood  nloof.  This, 
in  a  great  moasurc,  can  l)e  nccounted  for  l)y  c<'rtain  individual  jcaioiwy, 
and  by  false  and  scandalous  stories  in  relation  Lo  the  revivalist ;  and 
time  has  shown,  as  another  result,  that  Mr.  Doiitne"  is,  without  <loubt, 
a  pure,  spotless,  and  earnest  yoinig  man,  who  tliought,  hiliored.  and 
prayed  witiiout  thought  of  remuneration.  When  we  come  to  eonsitler 
that  it  became  necessary  to  charge  an  ad  mission- fee  to  pay  the  neces- 
sary expenses  of  the  revival,  —  and,  notwithstanding  this,  the  meet- 
ings were  usually  crowded,  —  Mr.  Doutney's  success  was  something  to 
wonder  at.  It  showed  that  the  people  believed  in  him,  and  it  also 
showed  the  command  which  he  exhibited  over  the  rougher  class  or 
element  that  were  usually  found  present  at  the  meetings  in  large 
numbers  and  on  all  occasions.  During  the  five  weeks  Mr.  Doutney 
held  thirty-seven  revival  meetings,  at  which  live  thousand  persona 
(in  round  numbers)  signed  the  pledge.  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
these  men  are  now  trying  to  lead  a  nobler  life.  Mr.  Doutney  was 
also  present  at  and  led  thirty-five  prayer-meetings.  The  attendance 
on  them  was  principally  reformed  men,  and  the  result  of  the  work  at 
these  meetings  can  never  be  correctly  estimated.  Four  meetings  for 
children  were  also  held,  and  greatly  enjoyed  by  the  little  folks.  Be- 
sides all  these,  Mr.  Doutney  found  time  to  make  pc,  )nal  visits  to  the 
unfortunate.  Mr.  Doutney,  during  his  stay,  did  not  think  it  Ijcneath 
him  to  accompany  a  large  wagon  through  our  streets,  and  solicit  from 
our  merchants  about  one  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  provisions  and  a 
number  of  tons  of  coal.  The  singing  of  Mrs.  Doutney  was  a  very 
attractive  feature  of  the  revival.  There  are  many  who  will  retain  in 
their  memory  the  beautiful  and  feeling  strains  of  "  Oh,  to  be  noth- 
ing !  "  as  she  rendered  them.  The  different  temperance  organizations 
ably  assisted  all  the  efforts  of  the  revivalist.  Taken  together  as  a 
whole,  we  think  the  revival  a  success.  The  ladies  were  untiring  in 
their  good  work,  and  deserve  considerable  praise  for  tlie  unwavering 
fidelity  which  they  gave  to  the  cause  and  Mr.  Doutney. 

One  of  the  most  striking  episodes  of  my  career  in  Albany 
was  my  "  relief-visits  "  to  the  poorer  families  of  the  reformed 


618  SARATOGA,    THE  SOUTJJ,  AND   TUE    WEST. 

drunkards  anionj^  whom  I  successfully  labored.  This  I  mnde 
u  feature  of,  and  deservedly;  for  liow  can  a  poor  man  bo 
kept  reformed  if  ho  has  nothii'<T  wherewith  to  keep  himself 
and  his  family  ?  Kefonued  drunkards  and  their  families  must 
live,  and  must  have  something  to  eat,  until  they,  by  their  new- 
found sobriety  and  industry,  are  enabled  to  earn  it.  It  is  use- 
less to  tell  a  starving  man  to  be  honest,  or  a  hungry  man  to  be 
temperate,  esiiecially  if  he  has  a  family  who  are  suffering  with, 
as  well  as  by,  him. 

Recognizing  this  fact,  I  went  round  Albany  with  a  four-horse 
team,  and  collected  from  the  charitable,  groceries  and  provis- 
ions for  "  my  poor,"  —  the  Lord's  "  poor,"  —  the  poor  of  those 
who  had  signed  the  pledge.  The  response  to  my  efforts  in  this 
direction  was  grand,  —  three  wagon-loads  full  of  provisions. 

Then  I  went  round  in  a  buggy,  and  solicited  orders  for  coal, 
which  orders  were  liberally  supplied.  There  are  warm  hearts 
and  open  hands  in  the  Capitol  city  of  the  Empire  State. 

One  of  my  most  successful  meetings,  or  series  of  meetings, 
was  held  at  the  far-famed  village  of  Saratoga.  Here,  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Women's  Temperance  Union,  the  indorsement 
of  Rev.  Dr.  Stryker  and  other  clergymen,  and  the  attendance 
of  the  Seventy-seventh  Regimental  Band,  which  participated  in 
strumentally  in  the  entertainment,  I  gave  a  number  of  lectures, 
which  were  received  with  avidity  by  overflowing  houses. 

And  thus  I  traversed  all  portions  of  the  United  States,  being 
alike  successful  in  Richmond,  Vn.,  and  Richmond,  Ind.,  —  in  the 
South  as  in  the  West.  I  experienced  the  far-famed  hospitality 
of  the  Sunny  South  in  various  localities  throughout  Virginia, 
Norfolk,  etc. ;  and  I  likewise  enjoyed  the  equally  kind-hearted, 
if  somewhat  more  boisterous  and  more  demonstrative,  hospital- 
ity of  the  breezy  and  boundless  West.  All  places  were  alike 
to  me  "if  only  I  could  save  some,"  and  all  places  seemed 
blessed  to  me  for  good. 


AMOXa   TUB  (iUAKERS.  619 

In  Richmond,  Ind.,  my  work  wud  commenced  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Quakers,  "  1  ne  Society  of  Friends,"  a  sect 
whicli  liiis  always  been  inclined  to  temperance  in  drink,  as  well 
as  in  word  and  deed.  My  efforts  in  this  place  were  marked 
with  signal  success.  "  The  Richmond  Palladium  "  remarked, 
that  "the  temperance  agitation  started  by  Thomas  N.  Doutney 
at  the  Eiglith-street  Friends'  Church  has  grown  into  a  move- 
ment so  strong  that  no  church  in  the  city,  except  the  yearly 
meeting-house,  is  large  enough  to  hold  the  crowd  that  goes 
night  after  night  to  hear  him."  So  the  Phillips  Opera-house 
was  engaged  for  three  evenings  to  accommodate  the  rush,  and 
barely  sufiiced  for  that. 

Hero  as  elsewhere  the  sweet  singing  of  my  dear  wife,  and 
the  admirable  recitations  of  Miss  Florence  E.  Bacon,  elicited 
deserved  applause. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

MY  WANDKKINOH,  AND  WAiiFAKB  WITH  THE  OKMON  ALCOIIOI,.  —  NOUTII, 
eoUTII,  KAMT,  AND  WEHT.  —  IN  VILLAUE8  AND  IN  CITIKH.  —  MY  VI8IT  TO 
DHOOKIAN.  —  MY  ADVENTUllKS  IN  PUOVIDKNCK.  —  "  WAH  I  NOT  UIOHT?" 
—  8CENK8,  INCIDKNTH,  AND  EI'I80DEH.  —  SOME  MIHlfNDEHSTANDINfiH. — 
A  SUMMAKY  OF  MY  WOBK.  — THE  UKUTK  OK  A  liUH-BKLLEH.  —  TUB  CRIP- 
PI-K  AND  IIKH  MOTIIEIt.  —  A  BABY  AJ  TUB  BK8T  TEMPERANCE  LEOTURBU 
OF  TIIEM   ALL. 

It  is  surely  unnecessary,  and  would  be  tedious  for  me,  to 
recount  the  narratives  of  ray  professional  visits  to  all  the  dif- 
ferent places  w.iere  I  have  labored  and  lectured.  There  would 
bo  a  uniformity,  a  monotony,  about  the  details,  which  would 
be  uninteresting  to  the  general  reader;  and  I  have  made  up 
my  mind,  whatever  else  I  may  or  may  not  be,  never  to  be 
"dull."  It  is  the  one  unpardonable  sin  against  the  general 
public.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  traversed  almost  the  entire  con- 
tinent in  the  cause  of  temperance.  Among  the  towns  where  I 
was  heartily  received,  and  accorded  a  generous  welcome,  were 
Staunton,  Va.;  Lynchburg,  Va.;  Bridgeport, Conn.;  R(»me,N.Y.; 
Utica,  N. Y. ;  Geneva,  N.Y. ;  Oneida,  N.Y. ;  Little  Falls,  N.Y. ; 
Newport,  R.I. ;  Hartford,  Conn. ;  Poughkeepsie,  N.Y. ,  Stamford, 
Conn. ;  Biddeford,  Bangor,  Rockland,  Camden,  Bath,  Lewiston, 
Augusta,  Ellsworth,  and  other  leading  towns  in  Maine ;  Bur- 
lington, St.  Albans,  Rutland,  Montpelier,  St.  Johusbury,  and 
other  prominent  places  in  Vermont ;  Manchester,  Dover,  and 
other  towns  in  New  Hampshire;  Lawrence,  Haverhill,  Wake- 
field, Holyoke,  Worcester,  Salem,  and  Springfield,  Mass.,  in 
addition  to  a  very  successful  visit  to  Boston ;  Meriden.  New 

020 


TllK  CITY  OF  CIlVRCIIKfl.  591 

ITavon,  Conn. ;  Troy,  Plnttsburg,  Schenectady,  Port  Ilcnryi 
iJuflalo,  0(1g(>nsl)iirf]f,  Amstorduin,  GloverKville,  N.Y. ;  Haiti- 
more,  Mtl.;  Miiimmpolis,  Minn,  (in  hotli  of  which  last-inontionecl 
phice«  I  wiirt  fur  more  succesHful  ultinmtcly  thiin  either  my 
friends  or  myself  expected)  i  Indianapolis,  Shelby  ville,  I^aporte, 
Union  City,  and  other  leading  towns  in  Indiana;  London, 
New  Ohio,  etc.,  in  Oliio,  with  a  very  enthusiastic  reception  in 
that  great  eetitro,  Cincinnati ;  lielvidere,  Ottawa,  and  other 
towns  in  Illinois,  with  a  fine  reception  in  that  very  hot-bed  of 
the  rum-interest,  Chicago  itself,  as  well  as  an  almost  ovation  in 
Montreal  and  other  prominent  places  in  C'anaUu. 

I  have  taktiu  the  pains  to  specify  the  different  places  I  visited 
as  far  us  possible,  as  I  do  not  believe  in  mere  vague  state- 
ments, and  wish  to  show  here  and  now,  how  I  have  actually 
visited,  and  been  on  the  whole  successful,  alike  East,  West, 
North,  and  South;  alike  in  the  small  villages,  the  thriving 
towns,  and  the  great  cities ;  thus  proving,  that  gauged  by  the 
only  possible  test,  practical  and  extended  experience,  my  style 
of  temperance  work,  so  to  speak,  my  peculiar  methods  of 
reformation,  have  been  appreciated  by  the  oiily  possible  and 
final  judge,  —  the  general  public. 

Among  the  great  cities  in  which  I  was  successful  must  be 
mentioned  Brooklyn,  —  the  City  of  Churches,  the  home  of  those 
three  truly  good  and  great  men  (for  such  they  are,  after  making 
all  allowances  for  their  personal  peculiarities  and  professional 
differences),  Revs.  Drs.  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  De  Witt  Talmage, 
and  Justin  D.  Fulton.  In  Brooklyn  I  was  treated  well  by  press 
and  public,  and  found  my  reward  in  good  accomplished. 

That  excellent  paper,  "  The  Brooklyn  Eagle,"  thus  referred 
editorially  to  my  work. 

The  six-weeks'  temperance  campaign,  inaugurated  by  Thomas  N. 
Doutnoy,  in  the  tent  at  the  junction  of  Flatbush  and  Fifth  Avenues, 
was  brought  to  a  successful  terminatiou  last  evening  by  an  excellent 


622  TWO  REPRESENTATIVE  CITIES. 

vocal  and  instrumental  concert.  A  good  audience  was  present,  in- 
cluding many  prominent  advocates  of  the  cause.  Among  those  who 
occupied  seats  on  the  platform  were  Mr.  Watson  —  of  the  "Jersey 
City  Journal"  —  and  family.  Tlie  programme  opened  with  u  ad- 
mirably rendered  duet  en  the  cornet  and  clarinet,  by  Mrs.  Lilla  Belle 
and  Will  I.  Peters.  This  was  succeeded  by  the  recitation  of  the 
"  Schoolmaster's  Guest,"  by  Miss  Florence  E.  Bacon,  whose  elocu- 
tionary and  mhnetic  powt.s  are  simply  wonderful.  The  young  lady 
was  warmly  applauded.  A  "  Free  and  Jolly  Rover  I  "  was  well  sung 
by  I.  W.  Macy,  who,  in  answer  to  a  recall,  gave  a  laughing-song, 
which  was  capitally  done.  "•  Chicken  on  de  Brain  "  and  Josh  Billings 
"  On  Gongs  "  were  most  amusingly  read  by  Mr.  Doutnoy.  The  soprano 
solo  "  Perplexity,"  by  Miss  Watson,  was  followed  by  a  cornet  solo  by 
Mrs.  Peters.  Mrs.  Doutney  sang  "Take  Me  Home,"  a  selection 
descriptive  of  Southern  life.  The  remainder  of  the  programme  con- 
sisted of  the  "  Deacon's  Confession  ;  "  "  A  B  C  Duct "  by  Mrs.  Jones 
— daughter  of  the  late  James  Budworth  of  minstrel  fame--and  I.  W. 
Macy  ;  solo  by  George  I.  Winters  ;  "  Shivering  and  Shaking  "  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Doutney  ;  and  other  selections.  Mr.  Doutney  goes  to  Wes- 
terly, R.I.,  and  New  London,  Conn.,  to  spend  a  week  in  each  place. 
He  began  his  work  here  on  May  81 ;  and  his  meetings,  with  few 
exceptions,  have  been  crowded  from  the  commencement.  During  his 
stay  in  this  city  he  has  made  many  friends. 

Probably  the  two  places  in  which  I  have  enjoyed  the  most 
emphatic  success  have  been  two  representative  cities,  —  one  of 
them  perhaps  the  most  thriving,  bustling,  sensational  city  of  its 
size  in  New  England ;  the  other  certainly  the  greatest  city  in 
the  American  continent,  if  not  in  the  world.  I  allude  to  the 
city  of  Providence,  R.I.,  and  the  city  of  New  York. 

In  both  of  these  wide-awake  places  my  wide-awake  methods 
have  been  understood  and  appreciated.  In  both  of  these  enter- 
prising centres  my  enterprise  has  found  a  congenial  atmosphere. 
In  both  cities  I  have  made  a  stir,  —  a  seasation,  —  and  accom- 
plished practical  results  for  good. 


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IN  PROVIDENCE,  R.I.  523 

Of  course,  it  goes  without  saying,  that  in  both  of  these  cities 
I  have  encouutered  opposition.  No  positive  man,  with  an  idea, 
can  go  to  Provideuce  or  to  New  York  without  encuunteriug 
positive  men,  with  ideas  directly  opposed  to  his.  And  then 
follows  the  inevitable  clasliing  and  battling  of  ideas,  terminat- 
ing either  in  a  "  drawn  battle,"  or  "  the  survival  of  the  fittest." 

So  the  reader  of  these  pages  will  see  that  I  have  made  ene- 
mies as  well  as  friends  in  these  two  cities,  have  found  denoun- 
cers as  well  as  advocates.  But  the  latter  classes  will  be  found 
to  be  alike  more  numerous  and  more  influential  than  the  former. 
I  have  been  enabled  to  make  ten  friends  where  I  have  made 
one  enemy ;  and,  in  my  case,  the  usual  rule  has  been  reversed, 
and  my  friends  have  been  more  active  than  my  enemies. 

But  to  particulars.  I  commenced  my  career  as  a  temperance 
lecturer  in  Providence  comparatively  quietly  so  far  as  the  press 
was  concerned,  though  very  enthusiastically  so  far  as  my  audi- 
ences were  concerned.  From  the  first  my  houses  were  large, 
as  was  conceded  by  the  papers.  "  The  Morning  Star  "  of  Provi- 
dence thus  alluded  to  my  first  meeting ;  — 

The  first  of  a  series  of  meetings  for  the  cause  of  temperance  to  be 
given  by  Thomas  N.  Doutney  was  held  in  a  tent  on  Broad  Street  last 
evening,  and  an  audience  of  nearly  a  thousand  persons  was  in  attend- 
ance. The  tent  is  located  on  a  lot  on  Broad  Street  sixty  by  ninety 
feet,  and  has  a  seating  capacity  of  about  eighteen  hundred.  Above 
the  top  of  the  tent,  there  are  two  flags  waving,  one  bearing  the 
inscription  "Doutney  Jubilee,"  and  tlie  other  his  working  motto, 
"  Truth  and  Temperance."  The  exercises  opened  last  evening  with 
the  singing  of  several  of  the  best  of  Moody  and  Sankey's  hymns ; 
and,  after  prayer  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Alden,  a  brief  address  was 
then  made  by  Henry  S.  Woodsworth,  the  grand  worthy  patriarch  of 
the  Sons  of  Temperance  of  Rhode  Island.  Mr.  Doutney  was  then 
introduced ;  and  his  remarks  were  of  the  common-sense  order,  with- 
out attempts  at  rhetorical  effect,  but  were  straightforward,  and  pic- 


624    "TEMPERANCE"  HOTELS  AND  BOGUS  "  DRUG  "STORES. 

tured  in  plain  terms  tlic  awful  effcots  of  intomporanoe,  interspersed 
with  several  Immorous  and  ridiculous  antics  of  a  man  under  the 
influence  of  liquor :  yet  the  speaker  convinced  his  audience  that  he 
was  an  earnest  worker  in  the  cause,  and  the  result  was  a  number  of 
signatures  to  the  temperance  pledge.  During  the  evening,  there  was 
plenty  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music  by  a  corps  of  nine  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  who  accompany  Mr.  Doutuey  in  his  working ;  and  the 
company  enjoyed  a  good  musical  entertainment,  besides  hearing  the 
true  inwartlncss  of  the  evils  of  intemperance  explained  by  a  man  who 
had  risen  from  a  ragged  inebriate  to  be  an  advocate  of  the  teiiii)erance 
cause,  and  knew  from  sad  exp'  lience  the  evils  resulting  from  drinking. 

My  succeeding  meetings  were  as  largely  attended  as  my  first, 
end  my  audiences  grew  more  and  more  enthusiastic  as  they  saw 
and  heard  more  and  more  of  me.  I  flatter  myself  I  gave  them 
something  to  tliink  about  and  to  talk  about.  M}'  methods 
were  no\el  as  well  as  effective.  They  did  not  "run  m  the 
old  ruts :  "  they  were  not  "  stereotyped." 

In  one  of  my  addresses  I  raised  a  little  breeze  by  "  jjitching 
into "  so-called  "  temperance  hotels,"  which  had  nothing  to 
justify  their  existence,  saving  the  mere  fact  that  they  did  not 
sell  whiskey  or  wine  or  beer.  This  fact  was  a  gratifying  and  a 
good  one ;  but  it  did  not  in  itself  constitute  "a  hotel."  nor  make 
amends  for  the  carelessness,  and  poor  accommodations,  and 
terrific  cookery,  which  characterized  some  of  those  miscalled 
"  hotels."  Am  I  not  right  ?  I  also,  in  another  address,  created 
some  excitement  by  denouncing,  in  unmeasured  terms,  those 
so-styled  "drug-stores,"  which  sold  liquor  "on  the  sly."  I  said 
that  the  humbugs  and  hypocrites  of  "druggists"  who  "run" 
these  stores  were  infinitely  worse  and  meaner  than  the  open 
and  above-board  liquor-dealer.  And  I  meant  just  what  I  said, 
and  I  mean  it  still.    Am  I  not  right  ? 

I  was  called  a  "  charlatan  "  and  a  "  mountebank,"  because  on 
one  occasion  I  appeared,  attired  very  elaborately,  on  the  plat- 


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GOOD  CLOTHES,    VARIETY  ACTORS,   ETC.  625 

form,  and  excused  my  elaborate  "  make-up  "  on  the  plea  that 
"I  wished  to  show  that  reformed  drunkards  could  afford  to 
wear  good  clothes."  But  was  there,  after  all,  any  humbug 
about  all  this?  Was  it  not  merely  practically  illustrating  a 
practical  truth?    Was  I  not  right** 

I  also  provoked  some  criticism  because  I  entered  into  nego- 
tiations with  a  popular  variety  actor  in  Providence,  and  en- 
deavored to  enlist  his  services  in  the  temperance  cause.  But 
was  I  not  justified  in  using  every  agency  to  bring  men  to  the 
truth?  Was  I  not  fully  justified  in  utilizing  every  means  and 
every  man  to  accomplish  an  undeniably  good  result?  Was  I 
not  justified  in  trying  to  turn  this  variety  actor's  mimic  gifts, 
and  his  professional  and  personal  popularity,  into  a  new  and 
better  channel  than  that  to  which  it  had  been  previously  de- 
voted ?    Was  I  not  right  ? 

During  my  stay  in  Providence,  a  distinguished  gentleman 
made  the  remark  publicly,  that  my  work  did  not  meet  his  entire 
approval,  and  would  not  receive  his  individual  subscription, 
because  it  "looked  like  a  mere  money-making  venture,  and 
seemed  like  a  second  edition  of  Barnura's  show."  The  refer- 
ence to  Barnum  I  took  as  rather  a  compliment  than  otherwise  ; 
but  the  reference  to  the  money  I  justly  resented,  and  entirely 
disproved.  True,  I  had  to  live;  and  I  tried  to  live  by  my  hon- 
orable calling  as  a  temperance  lecturer,  just  as  a  clergyman 
tries  to  live  as  a  religious  lecturer.  But  beyond  this  I  cared  no 
more  for  money  than  the  minister ;  and  my  meetings  had  less, 
not  more,  of  the  pecuniary  element  in  them  than  the  average 
church.-  The  average  church  has  a  pastor,  with  a  stated  salary, 
dependent  upon  certain  fixed  conditions  and  pecuniary  resources ; 
whereas  I  had  to  depend  only  on  the  friends  of  the  cause,  or 
occasionally  on  a  very  small,  merely  nominal,  admission-fee. 
So  I  think  that  I  proved  to  the  public  of  Providence,  that,  in 
one  point  at  least,  the  gentleman  had  made  a  mistake. 


526  DOUTNEY'S    WORK. 

During  my  stay  in  Providence,  there  was  also  a  slight  misun- 
derstanding  between  my  friend,  Mr.  Ferrin,  and  myself,  on  the 
one  side,  and  some  gentlemen  connected  with  local  temperance 
organizations,  on  the  other  side.  But  it  will  be  fully  enough 
to  state  on  this  matter,  that  my  action  in  this  affair  received 
the  indorsement  of  the  most  influential  gentlemen  and  ladies 
connected  with  the  temperance  work,  embracing  such  men  as 
the  Rev.  George  W.  Anderson,  who  wrote  me  a  warm  letter  of 
approval ,  and  Mr.  George  W.  Butts,  the  owner  of  the  lot  on 
which  my  tent  stood,  who  was  so  well  satisfied  with  my 
course  that  he  gave  me  the  use  of  his  ground  hereafter  rent 
free. 

I  had,  in  addition  to  my  other  episodes,  "a  little  difference 
of  opinion  "  with  certain  members  of  "  the  Reformed  Men's 
Club,"  —  a  local  temperance  organization,  —  and  a  passing  con- 
troversy with  the  Providence  "  Telegram."  But,  on  the  whole, 
I  got  along  well  with  the  press  and  the  community,  and  cer- 
tainly succeeded  in  the  one  great  object  of  my  life,  —  bringing 
men  to  temperance,  and,  as  far  as  I  could,  to  total  abstinence, 
—  inducing  them  to  sign,  and  influencing  them  to  keep,  the 
pledge. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  can  sum  up  my  three-months'  temper- 
ance labor  in  Providence  better  than  an  ardent  advocate  of 
tempp^anco  summed  it  up  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Sunday 
Star.'  This  article  I  herewith  quote  entire  ;  as  it  is  full  and 
truthful,  and  presents  the  whole  truth  in  a  striking  and  forci- 
ble, because  practical,  manner :  — 

DOUTNEY'S  WORK. 

THE   RESULTS   OF  THREE-MONTHS'   TEMPERANCB   WORK  IN    PROVIDENCE. 

To  THE  EnrroR  of  the  Sunday  Star. 

Sir,  —  If  I  can  give  you  even  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  good  work 
accomplished  by  Thomas  N.  Doutuey  iu  the  three  months  he  has  been 


ITS  ACTUAL  RESULTS.  62T 

in  Provklonce,  1  slmll  be  glad.  On  Aug.  3  he  opened  his  tent  in 
Providence,  and  all  through  tlie  dry  and  Iieiued  month  lie  toiled  on 
incessantly.  While  every  citizen  wlio  po88il)ly  could  was  taking 
rest,  he  worked  on  for  fallen  liumanity.  September,  in  all  its  dreamy 
beauty,  failed  to  allure  the  worker  from  his  task.  The  golden  month 
of  October  found  the  burden  and  care  and  responsibility  Increasing 
on  Mr.  Do'jtney's  shoulders. 

IN    MUSIC    HALL. 

The  chill  of  the  evenings,  together  with  the  increase  of  the  audi- 
ence, made  it  essential  to  have  larger  and  warmer  quarters.  On  the 
Gth  of  October  the  tent  was  exchanged  for  Music  Hall.  Up  to  this 
time  meetings  were  held  every  evening  in  the  tent.  From  Oct.  C  to 
Nov.  8  meetings  were  held  every  evening  except  Wednesdays  '-  then 
again,  Nov.  11,  12,  and  19.  And  every  night  the  hall,  as  well  as  the 
tent,  has  been  literally  packed :  every  night  but  two  Mr.  Doutney 
was  present,  and  conducted  the  meeting.  Hundreds  of  people  have 
attended  every  meeting,  from  the  first  night  in  the  tent  to  the  "  bene- 
fit." The  persistency  with  which  these  meetings  were  carried  on 
shows  the  noted  firmness,  force,  energy,  and  endurance  of  the  man. 
It  proves  one  good  thing,  —  that  they  have  become  aroused  in  gospel 
temperance  work  ;  that  their  influence  was  to  aid  the  cause.  Besides, 
we  had  some  of  the  most  eloquent  orators  and  most  polished  speak- 
ers in  our  Union  to  address  the  meetings.  Here  let  me  add,  never  in 
one  single  instance  have  the  poor  and  lowly  been  turned  from  the 
door.  Thoy  have  always  been  admitted,  and  enjoyed  the  same  con- 
siderate and  kind  attentions  others  more  prosperous  have  enjoyed. 

THE   ACTUAL  RESULTS. 

More  than  three  thousand  people  have  signed  the  pledge,  and  but 
very  few  have  broken  it.  Some  of  the  most  hopeless  cases  of  intem- 
perance ever  known  in  our  city  have  Iwen  reformed.  Men  who  never 
remember  a  sober  day  before,  arc  to-day  respectable,  sober  niemljcrs 
of  society.  Probably  no  two  were  approached  in  the  same  manner. 
Could  you  have  seen  the  number  of  poor,  fallen  men  who  have  been 


628  THE  CaiLDBEN'8  MEETmas. 

wutcbed  and  nursed  througli  "dolirium  trcrai'us,"  as  tenderly  and 
carefully  as  a  mutlier  would  liave  watched  a  sick  cliild,  by  Mr.  Dout- 
ney  and  bis  assistants,  you  would  feel  this  in  itself  suflleient  work  for 
three  months.  When  medical  aid  was  needed,  the  best  physicians 
have  been  called  and  |)aid  by  Mr.  Doutney.  Clothing  was  provided, 
food  administered  to  the  hungry,  husbands  returned  to  wives  after 
years  of  absence.  Hundreds  of  homes  have  been  nuule  happy. 
Places  of  abode  have  been  hunted  up,  too  wretchedly  miserable  to  be 
dignifled  by  the  name  of  homo  :  they  have  been  made  bright,  cheerful, 
cleanly,  and  comfortable.  Then  Mr.  Doutney,  by  personal  application, 
gathered  in  a  large  amount  of  provisions  for  reformed  men  ;  and,  at 
his  solicitation,  one  evening  a  collection  of  more  than  eighty  dollars 
was  taken  u}),  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  Henry  F.  Ferrin,  for  the 
needs  of  the  poor  who  had  signed  the  temperance  pledge  8inc.e  the 
gospel  meetings.  Besides,  other  collections  have  been  taken  up  at 
different  times  for  outside  purposes,  —  two  for  a  poor  cripple-girl,  one 
for  two  invalid  sisters,  also  one  for  the  proprietor  of  a  coffee-house, 
and  one  for  the  minister  and  sabbath  school  of  the  Gaspee-street 
Zlon  M.  E.  Church  (colored).  And  I  venture  to  say,  that,  at  the 
time  some  of  the  collections  were  called  for,  the  funds  were  low,  very 
low,  in  Mr.  Doutney's  treasury,  to  carry  on  his  own  meetings. 

THE   children's   MEETINGS. 

The  grand  and  glorious  success  of  the  children's  meetings  I  can- 
not overlook.  The  first  was  on  so  stormy  a  day  hardly  a  child  could 
be  expected  out,  but  more  than  five  hundred  were  present.  Some  of 
them  gave  well-rendered  temperance  recitations.  Tlioy  were  enter- 
tained with  fine  music  and  songs.  They  were  bountifully  fed  with 
luscious  grapes,  the  best  of  cake,  and  plenty  of  fresh  milk.  The 
next  Saturday  being  fine,  nearly  fourteen  hundred  little  hearts  were 
made  glad  by  the  march  through  the  streets,  fine  music,  and  the  i)lcn- 
tiful  repast  of  good  things  provided  for  them.  It  was  a  day  never 
to  be  forgotten  by  the  little  ones. 

The  meeting  held  by  the  reformed  men  was  conducive  of  great 
good,  as  was  the  meeting  the  night  the  reformed  men  spoke  for  the 


A  RUM-SKLLINQ  liRUTE.  529 

prize.  I  was  truly  y;la(l  wlion  tlio  women  were  plvon  an  opportunity 
tu  HiH>uk,  if  only  fur  livu  niinutuH.  Tiu'y  uhuwud  uiuub  nuturul  tulent, 
and  uu  HUiaW  uiuouut  of  tiltility. 

uoutney's  eloquence. 

One  of  the  most  potent  intlueneeu  for  tomiicrnncc  in  those  meetings 
has  l)eeu  the  i'xi)erienec  lecture,  given  several  times  by  request.  No 
one  who  has  hud  an  opportunity  of  liearing  it  will  question  the  elo- 
quence of  the  speaker,  i'robably  on  (Sunday  evening,  Nov.  12,  Mr. 
Doutney  sliowod  his  oratorical  lowers  to  as  good  aclvantagc  as  at  any 
time  since  his  stay  in  Providence.  His  remarks  were  to  the  point; 
and  his  allusion  to  women,  their  intluence  in  temperance  work,  and 
the  good  use  they  would  put  the  ballot  to,  was  earnest,  truthful,  and 
respectful  in  the  estretne. 

Let  me  say,  in  conclusion,  that  it  lias  bl'cn  a  grand,  good  Christian 
work,  from  first  to  last.  No  one  person,  in  my  remembrance,  has 
done  as  much  practical  good,  and  as  much  Christian  work,  in  the 
same  time  as  Mr.  Doutney.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Doutney  came  amongst 
us  as  comparative  strangers :  they  depart  counting  their  friends  by 
thousands.  Mrs.  Doutney,  in  her  sweet  songs,  has  melted  many  a 
hardened  heart.  Sustained  by  an  unfaltering  trust  iu  God,  and  with 
a  flrra  determination  to  do  right,  Mr.  Doutney  has  gained  the  confi- 
dence of  many  of  our  citizens.  But  some  one  says,  "  I  tiiought 
Doutney  had  enemies."  Show  me  a  person  without  an  enemy,  and  I 
will  show  you  a  cipher  in  the  world  and  society  "very  time. 

Some  incidents  in  my  career  in  Providence  have  a  personal 
and  human  interest.  Thus,  I  became  cognizant  of  a  man,  or 
brute  in  man's  form,  who  passed  for  a  generous-hearted,  open- 
handed  individual,  a  prominent  rum-seller  in  Providence,  whoy 
when  -a  poor,  misguided,  loving  creature  had  become  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  and  had,  in  her  bitterness  of  spirit,  taken  to 
drink,  had  turned  her  out  of  doors.  In  my  manly  and  right- 
eous wrath  I  stigmatized  this  beast  as  he  deserved,  and,  by  so 


630  A   CniVVLK  AND  IlKIl  MOTHER. 

doing,  socurud,  by  my  uUiiHioriH  to  IiIh  ciim(>,  Iuh  oiunity  iiixl  that 
of  hirt  "  giiiig,"  —  for  I  will  not  allow  niysolf  to  Hay  his  "  frioiuls," 
for  tliat  wuitlil  bo  to  |K)lIut»  tho  Kacrud  iiaiut*  of  fritMidHhip  in 
this  connoctiun.  I  was  threatcMied  with  vungeaiicc,  hut  I  cured 
not.  And  I  was  right,  for  sucli  a  bruto  as  that  is  in  moMt  cnseM 
n  coward.  Thu  male  cruaturu  who  will  maltruat  a  woman  \a 
usually  afraid  of  a  man.     Su  his  throats  came  to  nothing. 

A  ripplo  of  oxuitumunt,  tluH  time  of  a  Hentimental  character, 
was  also  caused  during  my  lectures  here  by  the  constant 
appearance  at  tho  meetings  of  a  woman,  who  wheeled  into 
the  midst  of  tho  crowd  a  crippled  child,  —  a  young  girl, — 
who  found  the  principal  delight  of  her  life  in  tho  varied  exer- 
cises —  the  songs  and  speeches  and  recitations  and  miscellane- 
ous performances  —  at  my  temperance  "entertainments."  This 
crippled  daughter  and  devote<l  mother  came  in  a  little  while 
to  be  looked  upon  as  parts  —  and  very  interesting  parts  —  of 
tho  "show;"  and  their  presence  evoked  sympathy,  which  I 
soon  endeavored  to  put  into  tangible  shape  by  crystallizing 
it  into  "a  collection,"  which  I  presented  to  the  cripple,  with 
a  kiss. 

But  perhaps  the  most  sensational  incident  connected  with  my 
course  of  lectures  in  Providence  had  for  its  chief  actor  and  fac- 
tor a  baby,  —  a  helpless  and  unconscious  baby,  —  who,  in  spite 
of  its  unconscious  helplessness,  became  a  most  efiPeotive  agent 
in  the  good  work  of  saving  men  from  the  devil  of  alcohol. 

It  was  one  of  my  farewell  services  in  the  gospel  tcniperance- 
tent,  in  the  early  part  of  October,  prior  to  my  removing  my 
meetings  to  the  Music  Hall.  A  large  audience  was  assembled, 
and  the  exercises  were  of  a  more  than  usually  interesting  char- 
acter. Suddenly  the  interest  was  intensified  by  a  baby  nmklng 
its  appearance  on  the  platform,  —  a  baby  in  arms,  and  such  a 
baby  I  —  weakly,  puny,  sickly,  bloodless,  joyless,  almost  lifeless, 
thin,  emaciated,  gaunt,  very  bony  for  a  baby,  an  almost  skele- 


"The  baby  was  the  most  effective  temperance  lecturer  of  them  all"  [p. 
631]'. 


A    DRUNKEN-MOTHKR-POIfiOyED  BABY.  531 

ton  of  a  baby,  with  no  flesh  to  speak  of,  and  very  nervous : 
a  mere  bundle  of  bones  and  nerves,  —  such  a  baby  I  All  the 
mothers  in  the  audience  who  saw  it  hioked  at  each  other  piti- 
fully, and  said,  "  Poor  thing  I  "  Poor  little  thing,  poor  thing, 
indeed  I  for  it  was  a  baby  who  had  just  been  taken  from  the 
arras  of  its  drunken  mother,  who  had  been  found  in  a  state 
of  beastly  intoxication,  —  "off  on  a  drunk,"  as  the  terrible 
slang  is;  while  the  father  had  been  sent  to  the  State  work- 
house. Between  its  two  wretched  and  worthless  parents,  the 
"  poor  little  thing  "  had  had  no  nourishment  for  some  time,  and 
was  dying,  partly  from  starvation,  but  what  was  worse  yet, 
if  worse  was  possible,  partly  from  alcoholic  poisoning,  —  poison 
imbibed  by  suckling  at  the  alcohol-befouled  milk  of  the  mother. 

This  is  an  actual  fact,  reader.  There  is  not  the  slightest 
exaggeration  about  it,  I  assure  you.  I  have  the  word  of  a 
reputable  physician,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  details  of 
the  case,  that  the  child's  blood  —  what  little  blood  it  had  — 
was  poisoned  by  the  alcohol  in  its  mother's  drink.  Could  an}'- 
temperance  lecture  be  more  impressive  than  this  awful  fact? 
And  need  it  be  said  that  I  made  the  most  effective,  dramatic, 
immediate  use  I  could  of  it,  and  held  that  poor  little  baby 
there,  before  that  crowded  assemblage,  as  my  most  effective 
temperance  lesson  ? 

During  my  stay  in  Providence  T  received  able  assistance 
from  many  good  men  and  women,  —  practical  encouragement 
from  all  classes  of  people.  Thomas  W.  Pittman,  Justin  D. 
Fulton,  and  other  eloquent  speakers,  addressed  the  meetings , 
J.  B.  Gibbs  of  New  York  lent  me  his  aid  ;  the  Rev.  Thomas 
W.  Vine,  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Worth,  the  Rev.  T.  C.  Goodsell,  Benja- 
min R.  Jewell,  of  Boston,  Rev.  Mr.  Dexter,  Rev.  Mr.  Scribner, 
all  lent  me  their  valuable  time,  talents,  and  influence ;  but  — 

That  baby  was  the  most  effective  temperance  lecturer  of  them  all ! 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  TEMPERANCE  CAMPAIGN  IN  NEW  YOIIK. — HOW  THE  METUOPOLIS  FOR- 
GIVES.—  SOME  STRIKING  ILLUSTRATIONS. — WIIV  NOT  WOMAN  AS  WELL 
AS  MAN?  — THE  MASONIC  TEMPLE,  THE  CHURCH,  AND  THE  INDIAN  WIG- 
WAM.—  DAN  RICE,  HAPPY  JACK  SMITH,  AND  POP  WHITTAKER.  —  THE 
SEARCH  FOR  JOHN  A.   TODIN.  —  THE   NEW-YORK  PRESS  AND  PEOi'LE. 

The  last  place  at  which  I  labored  in  the  causo  Oi  temper- 
ance (up  to  the  date  at  which  this  story  of  in}''  life-struggles, 
fall,  reformation,  and  triumph  terminates,  May,  1883)  was  the 
greatest,  worst,  best  place  of  all,  —  New  York.  My  readers 
have  doubtless  noticed  ere  this,  that  I  have  always  entertained 
a  i)eculiar  admiration  for  New  York,  as  well  as  entertained  ray 
own  peculiar,  but,  I  am  assured,  correct,  views  thereof.  I  have 
dwelt  upon  its  varied  aspects  largely  in  these  pages,  and  have 
described,  and  have  let  other  writers  describe  for  me,  its  curious 
and  startling  phases  of  existence.  I  approached  New  York  as 
an  avowed  temperance  advocate  with  diffidence,  —  a  modesty 
partly  personal  and  partly  professional.  I  had  been  once 
known  here  in  the  metropolis  as  a  rum-drinker,  —  ay,  and  a  rum- 
seller  ,  and  now  I  had  what  seemed  to  me  the  assurance,  almost 
the  impudence,  to  appear  before  it  as  a  temperance  lecturer. 
How  would  it  receive  me  in  my  new  charact  !  Would  it 
not  remember  me  only  in  my  old?  Would  it  not  force  nie  to 
pay  the  penalty  of  my  erring  past  by  refusing  to  acknowledge 
me  in  my  repenting  present?     So  much  personally. 

Again,  professionally.  New  York  had  already  enjoyed  all 
the  intellectual  efforts  of  a  P'ather  Mathew,  a  Gough,  and  a 
Murphy.     What  further  need  had  it,  then,  of  a  Doutney  ?    All 

532 


WHAT  NEW   YORK  ASKS.  633 

that  is  greatest  on  earth  in  art,  science,  literature,  politics, 
finance,  religion,  and  morals,  comes  of  itself,  or  is  br(»uglit,  to 
New  York.  What  need,  then,  to  swell  the  already  overflowing 
tide  of  contributions  with  my  little  mite?  In  short,  I  antici- 
pated in  New  York  compiirative  obscurity  and  failure.  But 
on  the  contrary  I  found  a  liberal  welcome,  and,  from  the  start, 
success. 

As  for  my  past,  New  York,  God  bless  it !  had,  in  its  bigness 
of  size  and  soul,  forgotten  all  about  it,  save  where  I  myself 
chose  to  tell  about  it.  This  is  characteristic  of  New  York.  It 
knows  no  past.  It  cares  nothing  for  "ancient  history."  It 
looks  only  at  the  direct  present,  and  only  towards  the  imme- 
diate future.  "  To-day  "  is  by  far  the  favorite  word  in  its 
language.  "  To-morrow,"  too,  is  quite  a  common  term ;  but 
"  yesterday  "  is  seldom  referred  to. 

New  York  asks  not,  cares  not,  What  a  man  may  have  been  ? 
all  it  wants  to  know,  and  that  it  will  find  out  and  determine  for 
itself  at  once,  is,  Who  and  what  is  the  man  ?  So  New  York 
never  "  bothered  "  about  recollecting  the  old  Tom  Doutney  the 
inebriate,  —  save  when  and  as  far  as  Tom  Doutney  himself 
mentions  it,  —  but  only  set  to  work,  saw,  heard,  and  made  up 
its  mind  in  regard  to,  Thomas  N.  Doutney,  the  converted  rum- 
seller  and  temperance  lecturer.  And  I  am  sincerel}'  grateful, 
profoundly  glad,  and  not  a  little  proud,  to  have  reason  to  think 
that  the  latter  Doutney  impressed  the  metropolis  favorably. 

And  while  I  am  on  this  point,  to  which  I  have  been  directing 
attention, — the  indifference  of  New  York  to  the  past,  its  ten- 
dency to  forget,  —  let  me  remind  the  reader,  that  if  there  is  an 
evil  side  to  it,  —  as  there  nndoubtedl}'^  is, — if  it  leads  to  a 
quick,  complete  obliteration  of  all  records  and  relics,  so  that  in 
New  York  to-day  there  is  hardly  a  building  remaining  that 
stood  in  New  York  fifty  years  ago,  —  there  is  also  a  magnificent 
side,  —  a  noble  and  a  Christ-like  side. 


634  FORGET  AND  FORGIVE. 

The  tendency  to  forffet  is  accompanied  by  the  tendency  to 
forgive.     The  former  is  human,  and  tlie  hitter  is  divine. 

True,  there  ia  perhaps  too  much  of  this  in  New  York,  as 
instanced  by  the  notorious  fact,  —  already  alluded  to,  I  thhik, 
elsewhere  in  this  volume, — that  I  have  met  in  the  course  of  one 
day,  in  the  streets  of  New  York,  four  or  five  men,  each  of  whom 
has  killed  his  man,  and  who,  in  almost  any  other  country,  would 
have  been  hung,  or  would  have  been  confined  in  State  prison 
for  life,  but  each  of  whom,  in  the  American  metropolis,  is  en- 
joying all  the  comforts  and  respect  of  the  average  free  and 
well-to-do  citizen. 

But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  hundreds  of  men, — 
men  who  have  sinned  and  suffered,  but  repented  and  reformed, 
—  who,  in  any  other  city  almost  in  the  world,  would  have  been 
ostracized,  pointed  at  with  shame,  and  ruined,  but  who  in 
New  York,  their  very  crimes  forgotten,  are  leading  respectable 
lives,  and  are  themselves  respected. 

And  God  bless,  I  say,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  the 
great  and  great-hearted  city  of  which  this  can  truly  be  said  I 
Such  a  city  is  pre-eminently  adapted  for  the  Jiome  of  any  re- 
formed man,  whether  he  be  a  criminal  or  drunkard.  And  let 
me  here  breathe  the  earnest  praj'er,  that  some  day  the  fulness 
of  time  and  justice  shall  come,  when  not  only  shall  all  other 
cities  imitate  New  York  in  its  tendency  to  forgive,  but  when 
this  forgiveness  shall  be  extended,  not  only  to  men.,  but  to  ivomen; 
when  there  shall  be  hope,  not  only  as  now,  for  a  penitent 
thief,  forger,  or  drunkard,  truly  trying  to  reform,  but  also  for 
an  erring  woman  who  grieves  over  her  error,  and  has  ceased 
to  err,  and  who  is  striving  to  recover  the  ground  that  she 
has  lost. 

Jesus  Christ  forgave,  ay,  loved  Mary  Magdalene.  He  has 
commanded  us  to  forgive  all  sins  committed  by  others,  —  all: 
he  has  specified  no  one  exception.     Who,  then,  what  mere  man 


NEW  YORK  SUSTAINS  ME.  686 

or  what  nere  woman,  has  the  right  to  pronounce  any  one  sin 
in  either  sex  unpardonable  ? 

But  to  return  to  my  more  immediate  subject,  —  my  own 
lecture  experiences  in  New  York.  I  found  them  generally  and 
steadily  successful ;  and  I  have  therefore  the  right  to  conclude 
that  the  metropolis,  faciliar  as  it  was  with  the  burning  elo- 
quence of  a  Gough  and  a  Murphy,  accustomed  as  it  was  to  the 
glowhig  earnestness  of  a  Moody,  yet  found  something  differ- 
ent from  these,  and  something  commendable,  in  the  efforts  to 
please,  amuse,  instruct,  and  reform  liis  fellow-men,  made  by 
Thomas  N.  Doutney  and  those  associated  with  him. 

I  began  my  work  at  the  splendid  Masonic  Temple,  corner 
Twenty-third  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  with  Thomas  W.  Pitt- 
man,  Esq.,  for  my  chairman,  and  assisted  b}'  my  dear  wife  as 
solo  singer,  my  dear  friend.  Miss  Florence  E.  Bacon,  as  elocu- 
tionist, and  a  fine  corps  of  colored  jubilee  singers,  the  Olym- 
pian Quintet,  C.  C.  Cornish,  manager,  and  the  great  and  won- 
derful Gilbert  family  (Mr.  O.  C.  Gilbert  director  and  leader), 
and  William  B.  Stone.  These  were  great  "  hits "  in  New 
York,  and  always  received  hearty  and  genuine  encores.  The 
papers  at  first  were  comparatively  "  non-committal "  in  re- 
gard to  my  "movement."  It  requires  time  for  the  Press  of 
New  York  to  make  up  its  metropolitan  mind.  But  in  due 
season,  after  detailing  reporters  to  carefully  attend  and  watch 
the  progress  of  my  "  meetings,"  the  editors  of  New  York  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  really  in  earnest  in  the  first  place, 
and  that  I  had  solved  the  problem  of  presenting  moral  reforms 
in  an  attractive  light,  and  arraying  Prudence  and  Principle  in 
the  garb  of  Pleasure. 

Consequently,  from  the  time  they  arrived  at  that  conclu- 
sion, I  was  thoroughly  indorsed  and  sustained  by  the  Press  of 
New  York.  The  papers  reported  fully  my  meetings,  and  occa- 
sionally honored  me  with  "editorial  mention,"     This,  from 


536  Jtfr  NEW-YORK  WORK. 

New  York,  was  honor  indeed.  As  for  the  people,  I  carried 
them  with  me  in  New  York  as  elsewhere.  They  thronged  my 
meetings  at  the  Masonic  Temple,  where  on  several  occasions  I 
appeared  in  conjunction  with  my  esteemed  friend  Mr.  J.  B. 
Gibbs,  the  whole-souled  temperance  advocate. 

Having  fulfilled  my  season  at  the  Masonic  Temple,  finding 
the  absolute  importance  of  a  larger  hall  to  hold  my  increasing 
audiences,  I  made  an  arrangement  with  the  representatives  of 
the  old  aquarium  property,  corner  of  Thirty-fifth  Street  and 
Broadway  (then  used  as  "  an  Indian  circus  and  wigwam  "  on 
week-days),  for  regular  monster  temperance  mass-meetings,  as  it 
were,  accompanied  by,  and  alternating  with,  a  miscellaneous 
sacred  meeting  every  Sunday  afternoon  and  evening.  I  also 
made  arrangements  with  the  Rev.  George  J.  Mingins  for  the 
use  of  his  sacred  edifice  (the  Union  Tabernacle,  on  West 
Thirty-fifth  Street,  near  Broadway)  on  week-day  evenings. 

With  these  places,  I  was  enabled  to  give  constant  entertain- 
ments for  temperance,  and  met  with  great  encouragement. 

I  introduced  several  new  features  into  my  temperance  meet- 
ings. One  of  them  was  the  appearance  of  the  famous  circus- 
clown,  Dan  Rice,  in  his  new  character  of  "the  deformed 
transformed ; "  or,  "  the  reformed  drunkard." 

Dan  Rice  was  always  a  popular  man  in  his  days  of  dissipa- 
tion ;  and  his  reception,  ujnder  my  management,  showed  tliat  he 
had  lost  none  of  his  former  hold  upon  the  public.  If  the  people 
had  liked  him  drunk,  they  now  heartily  welcomed  him  sober. 

That  able  paper,  "The  New- York  Times,"  in  its  leading 
reportorial  article  in  its  issue  of  Monday,  April  9,  1883,  thus 
describes  Dan  Rice's  reception  and  first  appearance  at  the 
Indian  wigwam :  — 

Col.  Dan  Rice,  es-clown,  ex-circus  proprietor,  evangelist,  and  tem- 
perauce  advocate,  lectured  last  evening  upon  "  Moral  Reform  and 


DAN  RICE.  537 

Temperance  "  In  the  Indian  wigwam  at  Thirty-flftii  Street  and  Broad- 
way. Hia  andience,  whicli  completely  filled  the  house,  was  highly 
enthusiastic,  and  was  made  up  in  part  of  the  noble  red  men  who 
nightly  perform  in  the  ring  upon  the  stage,  and  whose  gloomy 
demeanor  indicated  that  they  were  not  in  sympathy  with  any  abl)re- 
viation  of  their  supply  of  fire-water.  Several  persons  were  in  the 
auditorium  whom  the  speaker  might  have  utilized  as  his  "horrible 
examples,"  to  illustrate  the  lecture.  Some  of  the  audience  were 
horrified  to  observe  two  men  lying  prone  across  the  rafters  in  the  flies 
above  the  stage,  and  were  only  relieved  when  they  learned  that  they 
were  wax  lay-figures,  which  perform  tragedy  parts  in  the  wigwam 
dramas,  and  were  taking  a  sabbath  rest  before  another  week's 
work.  Col.  Rice,  being  introduced,  remarked,  after  a  basso-profumlo 
''ahem,"  which  made  the  audience  start,  that  there  was  a  destiny 
which  shapes  our  ends,  rough-hew  them  as  we  may.  Mr.  Klce  oou- 
tinucd  that  he  felt  nervous,  because  some  friends  had  rattled  him  by 
alleging  that  he  was  going  back  into  the  circus-ring,  simply  for  the 
reason  that  he  was  going  to  lecture  in  the  wigwam.  That  did  not 
deter  him  from  appearing,  however ;  for  he  had  lectured  all  through 
the  South  for  charity,  and  paid  his  own  bills,  except  when  he  was 
able  to  stand  'em  off  (murmurs  of  sympathy).  Here  the  colonel 
said  that  he  had  been  a  very  bad  man  In  his  time,  but  had  made  a 
departure  from  the  tents  of  the  wicked.  "Moody  and  Sankey 
and  Dan  Rice,"  said  the  speaker,  "  will  be  spoken  of  as  a  trio  who 
only  lived  to  do  good  to  their  fellow-men."  He  recalled  the  days 
when  he  used  to  partake  of  the  cup  which  simultaneously  cheere  and 
inebriates,  and  said  that  he  used  to  think  he  could  drink  more  than 
anyljody  else  without  showing  It,  until  he  tried  conclusions  with  a 
man  named  Jewell,  who  belonged  to  the  custom-house,  and  a  fellow 
named  Morse.  They  got  him  under  the  table,  and  went  home  sober 
themselves;  and  he  had  always  regretted  It.  Col.  Rice's  advice  to 
young  men  was  not  In  accordance  with  the  orthodox  belief  expressed 
by  temperance  lecturers.  The  colonel  said,  "If  any  young  man 
wants  to  be  a  true  temperance  man,  let  him  go  out  and  get  the 
delirium  tremens ;  and  that  will  settle  it."     He  further  held  out  en- 


638  POP    WJIITTAKER. 

couragement  to  youths  so  disposed,  by  tolling  of  a  youug  fellow  he 
knew  in  Evunsville,  lud.,  wiio  Imd  deliriuin  tremens  so  tcnibly  that 
ho  thought  lu!  had  boon  in  hell  flfteeu  years  ;  and,  wiion  lie  gave  up 
drinking,  the  ladies  took  an  interest  in  him,  and  bougiit  him  a  gold 
wateh  and  chain.  The  speaker  had  never  yet  seen  a  man  get  so 
dnmk  as  he  liad  been  himself.  "  Talk  of  seeing  snakes  1  "  said  ho, 
"I've  seen  anacondas,  hyeuas,  elephants.  Talk  about  your  Pilots 
and  your  Juml)09  !  why,  I've  seen,  I've  seen  "  —  And  the  colonel 
left  the  audience  to  infer  that  !  ,s  vision  was  preposterous  beyond  his 
powers  of  description.  He  related  a  touching  tale  of  a  gentleman 
residing  in  Illinois,  who  got  up  one  morning,  after  he  had  been  on  a 
"  racket,"  and,  lindiug  his  iiioney  all  gone,  looked  througli  the  house, 
discovered  a  quarter  in  a  drawer,  appropriated  it,  hied  him  to  a 
saloon,  invited  two  friends  to  drink  with  him,  and  paid  the  quarter 
aforementioned  for  three  drinks.  They  were  just  wiping  their  mouths 
when  the  rum-seller's  little  daughter  came  in,  and  said,  "Paw, 
gimme  a  quarter  to  buy  a  beefsteak  for  breakfast ;  "  and  her  devoted 
parent  handed  over  the  coin  he  had  just  received  for  the  three  drinks. 
Then  the  gentleman,  revived  and  refreshed,  went  home  to  his 
matutinal  meal :  on  the  table  naught  but  bread  and  coffee.  He  in- 
quired the  reason  of  his  wife.  She  replied  that  somebody  had  stolen 
the  quarter,  ergo  she  had  been  obliged  to  do  without.  The  gentlemon 
pondered,  and  then  registered  a  mental  vow  he  would  purchase  no 
more  steak  for  a  rum-seller's  breakfast.  He  has  never  drank  a  drop 
since,  and  is  now  worth  a  fortune,  and  wore  a  plug-hat  on  Sundays 
and  legal  holidays.  The  speaker  related  other  incidents  in  which 
virtue  was  always  rewarded,  and  vice  punished,  and  withdrew  amid 
thunders  of  applause. 

I  also  on  another  occasion  introduced,  in  the  novel  rSle  of 
temperance  lecturers,  two  well-known  "  sports,"  —  Pop  Whitta- 
ker,  the  veteran  referee  of  prize-fights  and  sporting-matches, 
and  "  Happy  "  Jack  Smith,  the  well-known  trainer.  These  two 
gentlemen  made  their  appearance  together  at  my  last  meeting 
in  the  "  Indian  wigwam."     "  Truth,"  a  daily  paper,  under  the 


'  On  the  table  naught  but  bread  and  coffee  "  [p.  538]. 


"HAPPY  "  JACK  SMITH.  689 

mnimgcnKMit  of  "Josh"   Hurt,  the  well-known   ex-thcatricul 
munuger,  thus  alludes  to  thw  occasion:  — 

Yeslonlay's  moetiugs  at  the  big  ludiau  wigwam  were  tlio  la^t 
of  the  Doutiiey  temperuuce  uiuveiiioiit ;  uiul  Mr.  Doutiicy  may  leave 
witli  u  guod  conscience,  that  he  hua  done  much  good  for  the  cause. 
Iq  tiic  afternoon  "  Ilappy  "  Jaclv  Smitli,  ti»e  woll-l<iiown  trainer, 
made  a  long  and  intereatiug  address.  He  advised  iiis  iioarcrs,  if  tiiey 
wisiied  to  enjoy  tlie  bcni'llta  of  lioaltli  and  fricndsliip,  Uj  liccome  total 
abataincrH.  Pop  Whittai<er  made  an  eloquent  and  droll  fipci'cli, 
full  of  uni'cdoles  which  convulaeil  hia  hoarera.  lie  had  bot-n  appren- 
ticed to  a  circus-rider  when  a  boy,  and  had  been  in  profi'saioiuil  life 
ever  since.  Though  he  acted  as  referee,  he  did  not  say  he  was  a 
fighter,  "  a  iuiffer,"  or  a  bummer.  He  had  lost  his  arm  two  years 
ago,  and  he  nuiat  live.  He  would  not  beg.  For  forty  years  he  had 
not  drank  a  drop  ;  yet  he  associated  with  those  who  drank,  and,  when 
asked  to  drink,  invariably  took  a  cigar.  To  amuse  himself  and 
friends,  he  had  in  I'hiladelphia,  in  IHii'J,  signed  the  pledge  sixLy 
times  in  one  day.  A  few  days  after,  he  signed  it  under  oath  for  one 
year,  and  k«'pt  it.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  had  more  money  than 
he  knew  what  to  do  with,  and  felt  in  splendid  condition.  Then,  on 
the  invitation  of  some  friends,  he  took  some  sarsaparilla,  which  tasted 
queer,  and  warmed  him  up.  "As  cunning  as  1  was,  they  rung  the 
changes,  and  had  put  in  enough  liquor  to  take  away  the  heavy  taste 
of  the  sarsaparilla.  In  about  an  hour  I  was  booming  <lown  Chestnut 
Street  as  though  I  owned  it,  and  in  a  week  I  hadn't  a  cent  in  my 
pocket.  At  one  time  P.  T.  Barnum  worked  for  me  for  twenty-five 
dollars  a-month,  and  now  he's  a  millionnaire.  He  was  always  a  tem- 
perance man,  too,  and  is  so  to-day." 

After  recitations  from  the  Reynolds  children,  the  meeting  was 
adjourned. 

During  my  stay  in  New  York  I  also  made  every  effort  to 
find  the  whereabouts  of,  and  to  lay  my  friendly  hand  on,  poor 
Johu  Tobin,  the  man  who  had  once  been  the  president  of  the 


540     JOHN  TOniN,   ONCE  R.R.   rnKSWRNT,  NOW  TRAMP. 

New- York  Coiitral  Riillmnd,  l)ut  who,  for  Bome  years  past, 
had  been  a  homelcsH  triiiup,  liroiight  to  his  shaino  ami  sorrow 
by  iinprovitliiiKJO  atxl  nim. 

Had  I  found  John  Tobiii,  tho  tramp,  ho  would  havf  niado 
an  even  more  effective  temperance  lecture  in  New  Y'ork  than 
my  baliy  in  Providence.  Hut  all  my  efforts  in  this  direction 
were  vain.  I  rejjfret  it  deeply,  alike  for  my  own  sake,  Tobin'b 
Bake,  and  the  sako  of  temperance.     Hut  it  was  not  to  bo. 

Of  course,'  all  was  not  rose-color  with  mo,  all  sunshine,  liero 
in  New  York,  any  more  than  elsewhere.  Duriiig  my  campaign 
in  the  great  metropolis  I  encountered  misunderstanding,  mis- 
representation, and  opposition.  I  was  censured  by  some  over- 
sousitivo  people  for  introducing  a  certain  lady  before  my  audi- 
ences, —  the  "  certain  lady  "  being  a  woman,  who,  with  a  peculiar 
experience  of  the  life  and  habits  of  tho  "  unfortunates  *'  of  her 
sex,  had  devoted  herself  to  their  reformation.  This  "specialty" 
of  this  "certain  lady's  "  was  not  altogether  savory  in  the  nostrils 
of  many,  and  they  resented  my  indorsement  of  her ;  l)ut  I,  for 
one,  have  never  regretted  it,  and  never  will.  I  am  the  friend, 
the  true  friend  in  Christ,  of  every  erring  sister,  as  well  as 
every  eiTing  brother. 

Then  a  little  unpleasantness  arose  between  myself  and  two 
or  three  members  of  the  Manhattan  Temperance  Association 
of  this  city,  and  other  minor  disagreements  occurred  from 
time  to  time.  But  this  was  simply  duplicating  past  experi- 
ences, and  terminated,  I  am  glad  to  say,  in  duplicating  past 
successes. 

And  one  of  the  main  features  of  my  New-York  campaign 
was  in  connection  with  theatres  and  actors.  New  York  has 
become  the  great  theatrical  centre  of  the  United  States.  Right 
or  wrong,  this  is  a  simple  fact,  which  no  one  but  a  fool  will 
deny.  And,  seizing  npon  this  fact,  I  made  a  sensation  among 
the  theatrical  profession  which  brought  me  prominently  before 


"IS  DEFENCE  OF  ACTOBB."  641 

the  piiMio,  niul  IIiuh  cimbluil  luo,  in  my  way,  to  do  the  public 
niul  my  caimu  good. 

I  ordered  a  circular  to  he  printed  on  "  The  Damning  In- 
fluences Surrounding  the  Tlieiitritial  ProfesHion,"  and  sent 
several  thousands  of  these  circulars  to  the  actors,  uctresseH, 
singers,  managers,  dancers,  variety  troops,  dramatic  and 
theatrical  agents,  theatrical  doorkeepers,  stage-hands,  etc., 
througliout  New  York,  accompanied  by  an  invitation  to  attend 
my  afternoon  and  evening  Sunday  meetings  at  the  Indian 
wigwam. 

This  circular  was  regarded  in  various  liglits  by  various  people 
and  papers.  "The  Star"  pronounced  me  "an  insulting  dema- 
gogue ; "  others  styled  me  a  "  played-out  sensationalist,"  what- 
ever that  might  be;  others  regarded  the  affair  as  a  joke.  But, 
at  any  rate,  it  created  a  stir,  and  fdled  the  wigwam.  The 
following  report  of  the  lecture  delivered  on  the  basis  of  this 
circular,  published  in  "The  New-York  Herald"  of  Monday, 
March  20,  1883,  will  show  that  my  remarks  were  really  to  be 
construed  as  "a  defence  of,  or  a  plea  for,  actors,"  rather  than 
an  attack  upon  them.  It  will  also  show  how  my  remarks  were 
received :  — 

IN  DEFENCE  OF  ACTORS. 

SOME    W0RD8    9POKKN   IN   THKIK    FAVOR   IIY   THOMAS    N.    DOIITNKY. 

The  usual  large  crowds  asscmMfd  yesterday  at  the  "wigwam," 
corner  of  Broadway  and  Tliirty-fifth  fStreet,  to  listen  to  tiie  medley 
of  exercises  forming  the  attractive  features  of  the  meetings  held  there 
by  Thomas  N.  Doutney.  Intermingled  with  serious  discourses  by 
the  Kev.  William  Whitfield  and  Dr.  Ball,  upon  the  evils  of  intemper- 
ance in  general,  and  the  license  question  in  particular,  there  were 
recitations,  banjo-playing,  and  playing  on  the  Iwnes.  The  grand 
feature  was  an  address  by  Mr.  Doutney  upon  "  The  Damning  In- 
fluences Surrounding  the  Tl»eatrical  Profession."  In  opening  his 
discourse,  Mv.  Doutney  desired  the  audience  to  remember  that  the 


642  FAREWELL    TO  NEW   YORK. 

theme  related,  not  to  tlic  damning  influoncoa  of  the  theatrical  profes- 
sion, but  to  those  surrounding  it;  although,  he  said,  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Talmage  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Crosby  had  belittled  the  professiin,  and 
those  who  belonged  to  it,  he  would  not  belittle  or  malign  these  emment 
divines.  lie  did  think  it  better,  however,  that  those  taking  upon 
themselves  to  condemn  the  profession  should  be  persons  who  knew 
something  about  it.  One  of  the  gentlemen  he  had  named  had  gone 
to  Buckingham,  and  visited  dives  ;  but  no  one  should  be  mistaken  by 
the  idea  that  the  singers  and  clog-daucers  at  those  places,  and  at  Billy 
McGlory's,  belong  to  the  theatrical  profession.  Personally  he  had  had 
considerable  experience  with  people  in  the  theatrical  profession,  and 
he  spoke  only  what  he  knew.  In  the  name  of  God  he  would  tell  all 
parents  not  to  let  a  boy  or  girl  of  theirs  to  enter  the  profession  ;  and 
he  would  tell  them  more,  to  keep  boys  and  girls  away  from  the 
theatre  altogether.  He  then  proceeded  to  explain  the  "damning 
influences,"  as  he  regarded  them.  The  great  danger  was,  the  temp- 
tation to  drink  exhausting  stimulants  after  exhausting  labors.  The 
best  and  brightest  in  the  profession  had  yielded  to  this  temptation, 
and  gone  to  the  dogs.  But  all  did  not  yield.  He  urged  beef-tea 
and  oysters  as  substitutes  for  wine  and  whiskey.  Another  danger  was, 
the  sociability  so  characteristic  of  the  profession.  They  all,  as  a  rule, 
died  poor.  They  received  good  salaries,  but  spent  their  money  as 
fast  as  they  earned  it.  There  was  not  a  skinflint  among  them.  If 
he  was  dead  broke,  he  would  go  to  an  actor  for  aid,  sooner  than  to  a 
minister  of  the  gospel.  They  were  always  ready  to  help  in  any  good 
work,  as  recently  shown  in  their  noble  assistance  in  swelling  to  its 
gigantic  proportions  the  "Herald"  Ohio-flood  fund. 

On  the  whole,  what  with  my  jubilee  singers,  my  sacred  songs 
and  glees.  Miss  Bacon's  recitations,  my  wife's  sweet  singing,  my 
own  addresses,  the  humorous  remarks  and  pathetically  pro- 
found utterances  of  Dan  Rice,  Pop  Whittaker,  and  "  Happy  " 
Jack  Smith,  the  eloquent  appeals  of  Thomas  W.  Pittmau,  the 
assistance  lent  me  by  th<^  Rev.  George  T.  Mingins  and  other 
clergymen   and  gentlem*  i,  by   J.  B.  Gibbs  and   other  tem- 


FAREWELL   TO   THE  READER.  643 

perance  workers,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  support  afforded 
me,  wherever  and  whenever  I  deserved  it,  by  the  New-York 
press,  my  temperance  campaign  in  the  great  American  me- 
tropolis was  eatisfactory  to  all  concerned,  and  resulted  in  large 
gains  for  man,  for  temperance,  and  for  God. 

And  now  farewell. 

I  have  now  reached  that  point  in  my  life-story  where  the 
past  merges  into  the  present,  and  history  terminates  in  "to- 
day." I  am  still  living,  thank  God !  and  working  in  the  cause 
to  which  I  have  solemnly  yet  cheerfully  devoted  my  best  ener- 
gies. I  have  been  even  more  successful  in  my  late  visits  to 
Providence  and  the  New-England  States  than  formerly;  my 
preparations  for  my  future  work  have  been  all  made  on  a  more 
elaborate  scale  than  ever  before ;  but  all  this  deals  with  life, 
—  not  a  life-s^or^.     My  story  itself  is  done. 

What  remains  of  my  career  has  yet  to  be  worked  out,  and 
only  God  knows  "  what  will  the  harvest  be." 

But  I  sincerely  trust  that  I  have,  in  the  pages  of  this  truth- 
ful life-narrative,  shown  enough  of  my  better  self  to  the  reader 
to  impel  him  to  wish  me  "  God-speed." 

I  trust  that  I  have  given  him  glimpses  enough  of  a  man 
struggling  to  reform  himself  and  others,  to  cause  him  to  breathe 
a  "  God  bless  you  !  "  over  me  and  mine. 

I  have  not  palliated  my  own  enormities.  I  have  written  my- 
self down  in  this  book  as  for  years  a  reckless  wine-bibber  and 
a  heartless  rum-seller.  And  I  trust  the  reader  will  take  warn- 
ing from  the  terrible  and  disgusting  aspect  in  which  1  have 
appeared  in  those  two  characters. 

I  have  shown,  as  forcibly  as  I  could,  the  manifest  and  mani- 
fold evils,  horrors,  and  curses  of  intemperance.  Let  me  hope 
the  reader  will,  from  what  I  have  suffered,  learn  to  avoid  them. 

I  have  shown  incidentally,  yet  truthfully  and  fully,  the  life 
that  is  led  in  the  great  metropolis ;  the  varying  and  fearfully 


544  '*GOD  BLESS    US." 

contrasted  phases  of  existence  which  are  to  be  found  in  New 
York.  I  hope  and  believe,  that  the  reader  will  be  able  to 
derive  from  this  part  of  my  book  alike  a  more  vivid  and  more 
accurate  picture  of  metropolitan  life  than  can  be  procured 
elsewhere. 

In  short,  I  trust  and  hope  that  the  reader  of  this  volume  has 
had  more  than  his  money  s  worth,  partly  in  the  pen-pictures  of 
New  York,  partly  in  the  information  imparted  in  regard  to 
temperance  work,  and  the  warnings  conveyed  concerning  in- 
temperance, and,  lastly,  in  the  interest  inspired  by  the  unvar- 
nished narrative  of  the  life-struggle,  fall,  and  reformation  of 
Thomas  N.  Doutney,  who  trusts  and  hopes,  ay,  and  feels 
assured,  that,  through  the  grace  and  in  the  might  of  God, 
he  is  indeed  "  the  converted  rum-seller,"  "  the  reformed 
drunkard." 


IT  WILL  WELL  REPAY  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  AND  THE  NEXT  PAGE. 


NEVER  ^^^^»  NEVER 


FAILS,  ^m^^JA  FAILS, 


THE    BEST 

Kidney  and  Liver  Medicine. 

Pains  in  the  Hiick,  Side,  or  Loins  nrp  cured  hy  IIiint'H  Roniecly,  — the  iirciil  Kiilney  and 
I.iver  Meilieiui^  It  in  not  n  new  eonipouini.  Iiuvinu  lieen  iinetl  l,y  all  eiusses  f(jr  thiil>'  st-arH,  and 
huH  Haved  fioin  liiii^erini;  diseas<'  and  death  luindjedi^  who  Inive  Ijeen  ui\en  no  hy  phyMeianH, 
Hunt's  K«Miieily  onrcH  all  disiis  h  o:  the  l.iver,  Kidneyn,  Itladder.  and  Vrinary  ()ri;anH, 
I)ro|)<<y,  Oravel,  liialietert,  and  Incontinence  and  Uetenlicm  of  I  line.  I{iii>t't>  Kfiliedy  enrea 
Uriijht'H  Di-ease  of  ihii  Ki<lnoyH,  (ieneral  Delnlity,  l-'eniale  WeakneHc,  Nervont*  DiKeasen.  Intern- 

)>erance,  anti  KxeeHscrt.  Hiiiit'H  K»»iiu'(Iy  enn-n  Hilious  Headache,  Sour  Stoniacli,  < 'oHli\eneHH, 
)yH|)e|)t<la,  Btren^jtheim  the  HowcIh  and  Stoniacli,  and  nnikeM  the  lilood  perfectly  pure  iliiiit's 
Keineily  is  prepared  expressly  for  these  diseases,  and  has  neve,  lieen  known  to  fall.  One  trial 
will  convince  you  limit's  lit^iiiedy  is  purely  veyetalde,  is  used  liy  family  physicians,  and  the 
utmost  reliance  may  lie  jilaied  in  It.  HiiiiCh  l{«'iii«'<ly  c'UcouraL'cs  sleep,  creates  an  appetite, 
bruceH  up  the  syalem,  and  renewed  lu'alth  is  the  result.     S,.|id  I'm'  pamphlet  to 

HUNT'S  REMEDY  COMPANY,  Providence,  R.I. 


"IlavinB  witnoHscd  the  wonderful  effects  of  Iliiut's  Uemedy  in  my  own  case,  and  in  n  uront 
numher  of  others,  I  recommend  it  toall  afllicled  with  Kidney  HiseasesoV  Drojisy.  Those  atlllcted 
by  disease  should  secure  the  medicine  which  will  cure  iii  the  shortest  possilile  time.  Hunt's 
Kemedy  will  do  this.  Uespectfnlly  yours,  E.  K.  DAWKKY." 

"  A  member  of  my  family  had  been  troubled  for  several  yenrs  with  Kidney  Disease,  and  h.id 
tried  numerous  remedies  without  relief.     She  used  Hunt's  Kemedy,  and  was  com|detely  cured. 

Respectfully  yours,  H.  A.  .VLI'IN." 

"I  have  (infferort  twenty  years  with  severe  disease  of  the  kidneys  before  usini.'  Ilunt's 
Remedy  two  days  I  was  relieved,  and  am  now  well.  ,7(")Sni'A   'I'l'THII.L." 

"  My  physicians  thought  that  I  was  paralvzed  ou  one  side.  I  was  teriilily  afflicted  with  liieu- 
raatlsin  fiom  18«:i  to  IM.Si).     I  was  cured  by  ihint's  Ueinedy."  STKl'llKX   (i.  M.VSOX." 

"My  doctor  pronounced  my  case  Uriuht's  Disease,  and  told  me  that  I  couKI  live  only  forty- 
eight  hours.     I  then  took  Hunt's  Kemedy.  and  was  speedily  cured.  M.  (r()()|)Sl"i;h;i)." 

"Havlnif  suffered  twenty  years  with  Kidney  Disease,  and  employed  various  phvsicians  with- 
out beInK  relieved,  I  was  thi-u  cured  by  Ilunfs'liemedy.  8U1,LIV'.\X   pM-LN.VKU." 

"I  have  been  ureatly  beneliled  by  the  use  of  Hunt's  Remedy.  For  diseases  of  the  kidneys 
and  Hriuary  omans  there  is  nothluu  superior.  A.  I).  NICKKKSO.V." 

Ai.BKllT  Holt,  Ksq.,  Paymaster  Boston  and  Albany  liailroad,  writes,  "  I  have  used  Hunt's 
Remedy,  and  my  experience  with  it  has  been  such  that  1  can  cheerfully  say  that  I  am  satislied 
that  It  will  do  jiist  what  it  jiromises  to  do." 

"I  was  unable  to  arise  from  bed  from  an  att.ick  of  Kidney  PiseaBC.  The  doctors  could  not 
relievo  me.     1  was  finally  completely  cured  by  using  Hunt's  Kemedy. 

FRANK   R.  DICKSON." 

"I  have  suffered  extremely  with  Kidney  Disease:  after  using  Hunt's  Remedy  two  days,  I 
was  enabled  tu  resume  business.  UEO.  F.  CLAKK." 


One  trial  will  convince  you.    For  sale  by  all  Druggists. 

SKN'I)   roit   rAMPIII.ET  TO 

HUNT'S  REMEDY  COMPANY    .    .   Providence,  R.I. 

PRICE   75  CENTS  AND   $1.25. 

8 


IT  WILL  WELL  REPAY  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  AND  THE  NEXT  PAGE. 


TlLPEOPLE'S  LINE. 


IToT^  7ork  to  Albany. 

DREW,  NEW  DEAN  RICHMOND, 

Capt.  S.  J.  Roe. Capt.  Thomas  Post. 

FROM  PIER  41,  NORTH  RIVER, 

FOOT   OF   CANAL.  STREET, 
Near  Jersey-City  Ferry Desbrosses  Street, 


-^T         R  CJCJ       :e=.  1^, 


Connecting  at  ALBANY  -with.  Trains  of  the  New  York  Cen- 
tral for  the  WEST;  Delaware  &  Hudson  Canal  Company's  Roads 
for  all  points  NORTH;  Albany  &  Susquehanna  for  HOWE'S 
CAVE,  COOPERSTOWN,  OTSEGO  LAKE,  RICHFIELD 
SPRINGS,  SHARON  SPRINGS;  and  Boston,  Hoosac  Tunnel, 
d  Western  R.R.,  Boston  &  Albany  R.R.,  for  LEBANON  SPRINGS, 
PITTSFIELD,  and  the  East.  Local  Trains  for  TROY  every  half- 
hour,  connecting  with  Troy  &  Boston  R.R. 

Albany  to  Ne'w  7ork. 


NEW  DEAN  RICHMOND,  DREW, 

Capt.  Thomas  Pos:t.       Capt.  S.  J.  Roe. 

LEAVE 
OB  ON  ARUIVAL  AT  THK  STEAMEBS'  DOCK  OF 

Delaware  and  Hudson  Canal  Company's  Evening  Trains 

FROM  THE  NORTH  AND  WEST.  STEPPING  FROM  CARS  TO  STEAMER. 


M.  6.  WATERS,  Gen.  Pass.  Agent,  Albany,  New  York. 
J.  H.  ALLAIRE,  Gen.  Ticket  Agent,  Pier  41,  North  River,  Foot  of  Canal  Street,  New  York. 


IT  WILL  WELL  REPAY  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  AND  THE  NEXT  PAGE. 


MA. 


I  LIKE  IT. 


Remember  that  with  feeble  Infants  who  do  not  thrive  on  their 
mother's  mills  or  the  best  prepared  foods  in  tlie  ninrlcet,  \VK  RK- 
QUEST  NO  CHANGE  OP  FOOD,  but  add  5  or  more  drops  four  times 
daily  of  Slurdocli's  Liquid  Food,  and  you  will  find  that  tlieir  lost  or 
needed  vitality  will  be  restored  to  them  lu  less  than  thirty  days. 

Not  a  case  of  Cholera  Infantum  known  where  Murdock's  Liquid  Food  has 
been  use<l,  nor  a  death  from  Cliolera  Infantum  where  it  has  been  prescribed  by 
a  physioian. 

Pain  is  the  prayer  of  a  nerve  for  healthy  blood,  and  on  it  our  life  depends. 
Murdock's  Liquid  Food  will  make  new  blood  faster  than  all  foods  or  prepara- 
tions known.  A  tablespoonful  four  times  a  day  will  make  10  pounds  new  blood 
monthly,  and  the  system  contains  24  to  28  pounds,  — showing  how  easy  it  is  rc- 
nciced,  and  how  nccessurtj  when  diseased, 

Murdocl{'s  Liquid  Food  will  assist  all  classes  of  chronic  cases.  It 
Is  the  only  Raw  Food  in  tlie  world.  It  is  free  of  insoluble  matter,  and 
can  always  be  retained  by  the  stomach,  and  wJien  Kiven  for  INJEC- 
TIONS it  is  equally  valuable,  and  can  always  be  retained. 

It  is  Beef,  Mutton,  and  Fruits  condensed.  Raw  food  is  three  times  as  nu- 
tritious as  cooked  foo<l,  when  cooked  food  can  be  retained  by  the  stomach  ; 
lohen  not,  there  is  no  comp<(rison. 

Remember  all  acknowledge  the  value  of  Fruits  for  a  patient.  We 
use  tliem  in  Liquid  Food :  — 

1st,  For  their  own  properties. 

2(1,  They  relieve  the  meats  of  their  heating  properties,  making  it  safe  and 
valuable  in  cases  of  fever,  as  relapse  never  follows  when  used. 

3d,  Tliey  preserve  our  meats,  enabling  us  to  offer  the  only  Raw  Food  known, 
and  it  will  keep  in  all  climates  when  not  exposed  to  heat,  air,  or  smi. 


MURDOCK  LIQUID  FOOD  CO.,  Boston. 


IT  WILL  WELL  REPAY  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  AND  THE  NEXT  PAGE. 


A  GOOD  RECORD 

For  tlic  year  cnclliiK  April  1.  Uotweoii  oiio  hiiiKlred  and  two  liiiiidred 
HiirKioal  operations  liave  I>een  perfornie<l  at  tlie  Free  Hospital  for 
AVoinen,  Hiipporte<l  l>y  the  Murdoi'li  lvl(|nid  Food  <'o.,  HoHton,  witliout 
tito  Loss  of  a  Hinj[$le  patient,  an<l  all  restored  to  usefulness. 

Liquid  Food  was  given  before  and  after  tlie  Operations. 

What  other  hospital  that  does  not  use  Murdock's  Liquid  Food  can 
sliow  sneh  a  record  ? 

I!v  il»  ii«c>  wp  can  tmlld  up  nny  pntlont  who  1h  ton  rcducoil  for  nn  opcintlon,  on  timl  not  only 
a  RHfc  lint  bn('C('.'<Hfnl  iipcnition  can  b>'  inailu,  and  in  common  ctimia  Ihu  patliMU  can  lii^  made  con- 
viilCBCiMil  in  thicc-(|narti'rH  iif  the  time  n»nally  ruqnircd. 

Willi  wlial  wc  havo  been  and  are  doln)(,  we  shall  he  ahio  in  our  new  Free  IToMpilal  that  we 
are  now  hnililliid  corner  of  IIniitln«ton  Avenue  and  Camden  Street,  to  perform  in  the  aurulcal 
haltof  the  llu»pital  MW   OI'KKA'riONS    .A  NNHA  I,l,\-. 


Until  then  we  shall  remain  in  our  old  home. 

The  surgical  stair  at  Murdocli's  Free  Hospital  for  Women,  at  30 
Leverett  Street,  are  in  daily  attendance  to  examine  patients  and  assi;{U 
beds,  Saturdays  excepted. 

lt«  value  In  canes  where  limliB  have  been  broken  surpriHes  every  physician  who  has  ordered 
its  use,  us  it  restores  the  broken  limbs  to  health  aud  strengtli  in  u  few  weeks. 

TO  SUSTAIN  OUR  CL:\IM,  we  never  wish  Liquid  Food  used  until 
all  otiier  treatments  and  foods  fail ;  tlieu  the  results  are  quiclcly  seeu, 
generally  in  twenty-four  liours. 

From  till!  fact  that  no  two  beeves  or  sheep  are  allUc  is  the  reason  of  our  different  brands  be- 
ing different  In  tlavor.  All  brands  are  made  by  tlie  same  formula.  The  letter  represiMits  the  day 
of  make,  and  the  llguro  the  tauk.  If  richer,  it  is  stronger  iu  smell  and  llavur,  aud  will  bear  a 
greater  reduction. 

The  Question  often  asked,  — HoAv  does  3Iurdoek's  Liquid  Food  com- 
pare with  otiier  foods  an«l  tonics?  AVe  refer  to  tlie  State  Inspector  of 
Foods  for  Massachusetts  iu  his  Annual  Report  for  1880. 

Albumen.  Alcoholic  matter.  Organic  matter.  Axh. 

Murdock's  Liquid  Food 14.10                        1.97                        18.45  0.42 

lyiebig's Notany.                 54.87                      6'2.10  2a.74 

Valentine's do                       28.r)7                      22.«'2  ll.nH 

Johnston's do                       20.13                      47.16  H  JIO 

Delacie's do                       50.13                      60.50  19.24 

Murdock's  Tiiquid  Food  contaiu's  14.10  per  cent  of  albumen ;  all  the  other  foods  do  not  con- 
tain any.  Common  food  does  not  contain  over  one  percent  that  is  availalilc.  It  contains  less 
organic  matter  than  common  food,  and  cduiuvm  food  contains  Ki.SS;  the  other  preparations  from 
2J.02  to  tJO.oO  per  cent,  it  contains  0.42  of  ash,  which  is  indigustiiile  matter.  'I'he  others  contain 
from  3. .'SO  to  '2:S."4  per  cent.  In  al<'oholi<-  <'Xtraef»,  1.07.  The  other  preparations  are  all 
TONICS,  as  they  contain  from  20.13  to  •■ir).l3  jier  cent. 

These  facts  show  why  Murdock's  l,i(|uid  Food  excels  all  other  foods  and  preparationu  iu 
making  new  blood  and  cleansing  the  system  of  disease. 


MURDOCK  LIQUID  FOOD  CO.,  Boston. 


IT  WILL  WELL  REPAY  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  AND  THE  NEXT  PAGE. 

FOR  COMFORT,  SAFETY,  AND  SCENERY,  CHOOSE,  IN  TRAVEL- 
LING  EAST   OR  WEST,  THE 

Cmtml  Ymmont  Railroad. 


WHICH  F0KM3,    IN   CONNECTION   WITH   TIIK 

GRAND    TRUNK    RAILWAY, 

THB 

Old  and  Favorite  New  England  Route 

TO  AND   FROM  ALL  POINTS  WEST. 


The  RolliiiK-Stnck  1111(1  K(iiiipmcnt  of  tlioCENTUAL  VER>rONT  UATLROAD 
is  sim'oikI  to  no  lloiul  in  this  country.     It  is  tlio  only  lini;  rnnnint; 

PuUisan  Sleeping-Cars  between  Chicago  and  Boston  Without  Change, 

And  solid  trains  of  elegant  Coaches  and  Baggage-Cars 

WITHOUT   CHANGE    BETWEEN    MONTREAL   AND    BOSTON: 

Steel  Rails,  Iron  Rriilges,  with  Westingliouse  Autoinutie  Brake,  Miller  Plat- 
form, (Joiiplcr,  and  liiilTer  on  every  train,  assure  safety  \vliil<!  passini;  swiftly 
through  Mountain,  Lake,  and  lliver  Scenery  of  the  most  lieautiful  and  varied  de- 
scription. 

The  Train  .Service  of  this  Road  is  so  arranged,  that  sure  connections  are  made 
with  the  (Iiiiud  Trunk  Railway,  and  with  Railroads  in  New  England  to  and  fi-om 
all  the  principal  cities,  villages,  and  towns  in 

MASSACHUSETTS,  RH.DE  ISLAND,  CONNECTICUT,  AND  VERMONT. 


Pullman    Cars  Montreal  to  Springfield,  and  Wagner  Cars  Montreal 
to  Ne'w  York,  Without  Change. 


First-class  Restaurants  with  reasonable  charges,  and  ample  tinre  given  for  meals. 

BAGGAGE    CHECKED   THROUGH   CANADA   IN    BOND, 

avoiding  all  trouble  of  <'ustoins. 

During  thi;  Summei,  EXCURSION  TICKETS  are  sold  over  this  line  at  greatly 
Ke<luced  Rates. 

Ask  for  rates  via  this  Line  before  buying,  ami  note  that  your  tickets  rend  via 

CENTRAL    VERMONT    RAILROAD, 

For  sale  at  all  Stations  and  responsibh;  Ticket  Offices  East  and  AVcst. 

COMPANY'S   OFFICES.  — 260    Washington    Street,  Boston;    271 
Broadway,  New  York ;  136  St.  Jamea  Street,  Montreal. 


J.  W.  HO  BART,  Cen.  Manager.  S.  W.  CUMMINGS,  Gen.  Pass.  Agt 

GENERAL  OFFICES.  ST.  ALBANS,  VT. 
3 


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West  Shore  R.  R. 

(N.  Y.  C.  &  H.  R.  R.R.  LESSEE.) 

• 

The  Favorite  Route  from  New  York  to 
Buffalo  and  the  West 

The  only  Railroad  running  direct  to  the  Catskill  Mountains. 

Roatl-bod  and  rolling-stock  first-class  in  every  particnlnr.     Palatial 

day  and  night  coadies.     The  far-famed  Wagner  Sleepers, 

Buffet,  and  Dining  cars. 

Quick  time  and  sure  connections. 

].  W.  LAYNG,  Gen'l  Manager.     HENRY  MONET,  Gen'l  Pass.  Agt. 
Stewart  Bui/ding,  280  Broadway,  New  York. 

NEW  YORK  CENTRAL  &  HUDSON  RIVER  R.R. 

<THE  ONLY  FOUR-TRACK  RAILROAD.) 

No  ferries  to  cross.     No  delays.     The  only  railroad  having  a  depot 

in  New  York  City. 

F^ST£:ST    TIME. 

Equipment  first-class.     RoHing-etock  fit  for  royalty.     The  magnifi- 
cent and  gorgeous  Wagner  Sleepers,  Parlor,  Drawing-room, 
Buffet,  and  Dining  ears  on  all  through  trains.    Per- 
sonal service  in  ever^'  instance  first-class. 

Remember  the  N.  Y.  C.  «&  II.  R.  R.R.  is  the  great  line 

From  New  York  to  Albany,  Troy,  Utica,  Syracuse,  Rochester, 

Buffalo,  and  all  Points  West,  North-west, 

and  South-west. 

The  only  road  passing  through  the  most  thickly  settled  and  most  central  part 
of  the  Empire  State.  See  that  your  ticket  reads  via  N.  Y.  C.  &  H.  R.  R.  R. 
ijure  connections  with  all  railroacls. 


J.  M.  TOUCEY,  Gen'l  Supt  D.  M.  KENDRICK,  Gen'/ Pass.  Agt 

Grand  Centra/  Depot,  /l/ew  Yor/c. 


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THE 


Boston  &  Lowell  R.  R. 

IS  THE  MOST  DIRECT  ROUTE  TO 

Lake  Winnipesaukee,  Plymouth, 

Camp  ton,  Campion  Village, 

Thornton,  West  Thornton, 
Woodstock,  North  Woodstock, 

Lisbon,  Littleton,  Franconia, 

Maple  wood.  Be  tl  lehem, 

PROFILE,  TWIN  iOONTAIN.  FAByAN,  ill.  PLEASANT. 

AND  CRAWFORD  HOUSES. 

White  field,  Jefferson,  Lancaster, 
North  Stratford,  Colebrook, 

Rangeley  Lakes,  and  Dixville  Notch. 

THIS  IS  THE  ONiy  ROUTE  TO  THE  WHITE  MOUIITAIHS 

MAKIJfO  DIRECT  CONNECTION  WITH  THE 

Pemigewasset  Valley  Railroad, 

The  Profile  &  Franconia  Notch  Railroad 

The  White  field  <fe  Jefferson  Railroad,  ' 

And  the  Mt.  Washington  Railway. 

DRAWDTG-ROOM  CARS  ON   ALL  EXPRESS  TRAINS. 

All  Trains  stop  at  Pemigewasset  House,  Plymouth,  for  Dinner. 


Be  sure  your  tickets  read  via  Boston  &  Lowell  R.R. 

For  sale  at  aU  principal  ticket  ofllces,  216  Washington  Street,  Boston, 

and  Company's  Station,  Causeway  Street. 


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NORWICH  LINE 


DKTWEE>f 


BOSTON^NEW  YORK. 


STEAMERS 

CITY  OF  WORCESTER, 

CITY  OF  NEW  YORK, 

CITY  OF  BOSTON, 

CITY  OF  LAWRENCE. 


Reduction  of  Fares  to  all  Points.     Boston,  $3.00;  Worcester,  $2.50. 


Steamers  leave  Pier  40  North  IJivi^r,  foot  of  Canal  Street,  next  pier  above 
Dt'slirosses-street  Ferry,  at  5  p.m.  ilaily  except  Sniuliiy. 

Tliese  elegant  steanicr.s  also  make  diic^cl  i'oniierlidii  at  New  London  with  the 
New  London  Northern  Division  ('.  V.  1!.!!.  for  lii'uttlclwro',  Windsor.  Lcllows 
Falls,  lltitland,  J5nrliiit,'ton,  Si.  Allians,  Montreal,  C^ncl)ec,  and  all  points  Xoi'th. 

Oil  the  rt'turn  trip,  train  leaves  New  York  ami  New  Lngland  Depot,  foot  of 
Niiniiiier  Street,  liostou,  at  (i.oO  p.m.,  eoiinertini,'  with  hoat  at  New  jjoiidon, 
ISoiit  arrives  in  New  York  in  time  for  trains,  boat.s,  and  steamers  going  in  all 
dirertions. 

'i'he  boat.s  of  this  lino  are  fitted  up  with  a  grandeur  calling  forth  the  greatest 
praise.     The  comfort  of  passengers  is  a  study  with  this  line. 


S.  A.  GARDNER,  Siipt.,  Norwich,  Conn. 

GEORGE  W.  BRADAY,  Agent,  West  St.,  foot  of  Canal  St.,  New  York. 

A.  J.  SIMMONS,  Agent,  211  Washington  St.,  Boston, 


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TROY  &  BOSTON  R.R. 

(IIOOSAC  Tl'NXKI,   IU>UTK) 

Is  tlip  most  (llropt  roiiff  from  Allmny,  Troy,  ami  tlic  WoM  to  Worrostpr,  Provl- 
diMicf,  lloston,  and  nil  KiihIitii  cities,  nml  i.s  also  Die  must  dlrt't'i  route  from  nil 
Kiisturn  jioiiitH  to  tliu  We.st  via  Albany  ami  Troy. 

Magnificent  roffing-stock,  fast  time,  and  reliable  management.     Low 
fares.     Palatial  sleepers  and  drawing-room  cars  on  all  trains. 

THE  ONLY    MNK   UUNNINO  TIIKOl^OII  TIIR 

FAR-FAMED  IIOOSAC  TUNNFL,  THE  EN(JINEEIIIN«    WONDER   OF 
THE  XINETEEMH  CEiNTUIlY. 

Rfi  anro  your  tickets  road  via  Troy  and  Boston  R.It.  (Iloosae  Tunnel  Ronto). 
Take  nont!  otiier.  The  Troy  and  lios'on  K.  1(.  is  also  the  oidy  direct  route  in 
roinieetion  with  ('.  V.  li.lt.  and  11.  A-  K.  U.K.,  from  New  York,  Troy,  and 
Aii)any  to  Montreal  and  the  North. 


JOSEPH  CBANDELL,  Oen'l  Supt.  T.  &  B.  R.R.,  Troy,  N.Y. 
C.  A.  NIMMO,  Gen'l  Fasaenger  Agent,  Troy,  N.Y. 

JOHN  ADAW8,  Gen'l  Supt.  Fitchburg  R.K.,  Boston,  Mass. 

3.  R.  Watson,  Oen'l  Fass.  Agt.  Fitohburg  R.B.,  Boston,  Mass. 

CE^lTKAlT  VEKMONT    Lim. 

I'asspngors  for  Montroal,  (Juehoc,  and  ]ioints  farther  north  .should  .see  to  it 
that  their  tickets  read  via  (Central  Vermont  I!. It.,  and  not  via  any  otlicr  load. 

This  is  tlie  only  route  from  New  York,  Alhany,  or  Troy,  passing  throuj^h  the 
cities  and  principal  towns  iu  Vermont,  and  the  only  route  ottering  a  full  view 
of  th(> 

'      FAMOUS  ADIRONDACK  MOTO  TAINS. 

The  mountain  sceneiy  along  this  route,  together  with  tlio 

l/ieivs  of  Lake  Champlain, 

go  to  make  up  a  picture  that  beggai-s  description. 

This  line  is  also  the  favorite  route  from  Boston  to  the  West  via  Montreal,  and 
the  itnly  direct  line  from  Boston  to  Ogdensburg,  N.Y.,  as  well  as  a  favorite 
route  from  New  Yorii  City  lo  Ogdensburg. 

Quick  time,  low  fares,  elegant  rolling-stock,  princely  palace  sleepers, 
royal  drawing,  dining  room,  and  buffet  cars. 

First-class  management  is  the  award  given  this  company  by  the  public. 


J.  W.  HOBART,  Gen'l  Manager,  St.  Albans,  Vt. 

8.  TV  .  CUMMING8,  Gen'l  Passenger  Agent,  St.  Albans,  Vt. 

T.  EDWARD  BONO,  Agent,  Washington  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 
E.  R.  COFFIN,  Agent,  Corner  Broadway  and  Thomas  St.,  New  York. 

CHARLES  LALTWE,  New  England  Passenger  Agent,  Worcester,  Mass. 

A.  C.  STUNEoSAVS,  Caucdiau  Passenger  Agent,  St.  James  St.,  Montreal,  F.Q. 


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GRAND    TRUNK  RAILWAY. 

Tho  popular  low-prlccd  lino  to  all  partu  of  tho  West.    Tlireo  thousand  (3,000) 
miles  of  lino  under  ono  nianugcinont. 

Choice  of  Routes  via  Niagara  Falls,  Montreal,  ur  Portland. 

Mo  Examination  of  Baggage  by  Custom-house  Officials. 

Pullman  Palaro,  Parlor,  Hlccpiiinr,  and  Dinlngr  Cars  on  all  Thronirh 

Trainx. 

Rates  always  Lower  than  by  any  other  Line. 


JOSEPH  HICKSON,  Gen'l  Manager,  Montreal,  P.Q. 

WILLIAM  EDGAR,  Gen'l  Pass.  Agi,  Montreal,  P.Q. 

E.  P.  BEACH.  Gen'l  Agt.,  271  Broadway,  New  York. 

W.  C.  Tallman,  N.E.  Agt.,  280  Washington  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


TIsltOFN  to  Montreal 

At  all  seasons  will  remember  that  the 

ST.  LAWRENCE   HALL 

Is  the  old,  reliable,  and  only 

FIRST-CLASS   HOTEL, 

Centraf/y  located  for  all  points  of  interest  and  business  purposes. 

Rooms  elegantly  furnished.  Table  service  second  to  none  in  tho  country. 
Evriy  detail  is  superintended  in  person  by  Mr.  Henry  Hogan,  proprietor,  so  well 
and  so  favorably  known  throughout  the  world  as  a  host  of  long  and  practical 
experience  and  much  deserved  popularity. 

Telegrapli-office,  barber-shop,  news-stand,  livery,  passenger  elevator,  etc.,  con- 
nected with  the  hotel.    Stages  to  and  from  all  trains. 

Be  sure  and  stop  at  the  St.  Lawuenck  Hall  when  you  visit  Montreal. 


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PORTLAND  STEAM   PACKET  COMPANY. 

DAILY  LINE  OF  FU18T-CLA89  8TEAMEKS  BETWEEN  \ 

Boston  m  Portland, 


ONE  OF  THE 

STEAMERS  "TREMONT"  (NEW),  "JOHN  BROOKS,"  OR 

"FOREST  CITY," 

LEAVES  INDIA  WHARF.  BOSTON.  FOR  PORTLAND, 

Every  Evening,  Sundays  excepted,  at  7.00  P.M.,       • 

ConnoctinR,  on  arrival,  with  Ma  no  Central,  Knox  &  Lincoln,  Portland  &  Ogdpns- 
Imrg,  (ininil  Trunk,  and  Portland  8c  Rocliostor,  Kailroads,  and  with  Caugor  & 
MachittS  Steamers  for  points  ou  tlu!  coast  of  ^laiue. 

THIS  LINE  AFFOKDS  A  3IOST  DESIRABLE  KOtlTE  TO 

LEWISTON,    OLD    ORCHARD    EEACH,    Poland    Spring,  Rangeley 

Lakes,  MOUNT  DESERT,  Bethel,  Gorham,  N.H.,  North 

Convsray,    Crawford's,   Fabyan's,   etc. 

rinest    Ocean    Trip  on  Eastern  Coast,  and  best  Route  to  WHITE 
MOUNTAINS,  and  Liland  and  Seaside  Resorts  of  Maine. 

THROUGH  AND  EXCURSION  TICKETS  AT  LOW  RATES. 

STATE  ROOMS  SECURED  IN  ADVANCE. 

Leave  Portland  for  Boston  every  evenino  (Sundays  excepted)  at  7.00  o'clock, 
counectiug,  on  arrival,  with  the  earliest  trains  ou  all  diverging  lines. 

WILLIAM  WEEKS,  Agent,  J.  F.  LISCOMB,  Gen.  Ticket  Agent, 

BOSTON.  PORTLAND. 

J.  B.  COYLE,  Jun.,  Manager,  PORTLANn.  ME. 

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